She doesn't even object to the touch. Not verbally, not with a violent response, not at all. Despite just waking up, she feels absolutely exhausted. The unclenching of her heart and mind and the violence of this turn of events both have her feeling like she could sleep for a week.
Which she's not gonna do, because look what happens when you do that.
His favorite author. Heh. Does it count, when he loves only half of the things she's written? After all, he --
--remembers what he promised now. Doesn't he?
An author without a reader isn't an author. Some authors, maybe most of them, will say they don't write for other people. They write for themselves. For her, that notion is an obvious joke. Of the two things she's written, one was for someone else alone, and the other because she was good at it, and the praise and renown fed her will to keep going. Which is why despite all her talk, and all the notes she takes, and all the things she files away for inspiration... despite all the revisions she's made to other stories, or even her own... she hasn't truly written a single word since the last scenario.
The feeling isn't like a dam bursting or a floodgate opening. That's too mild, too linear, too simple. No, if she were to put fingers to keyboard and craft the best metaphor she could, she'd start by describing a cosmic field of dust and hydrogen at last condensing to the point where its clumped-up heart finally ignites, bursting into celestial brilliance and flooding everything around it with warmth and light. She has it all back now. Her words, her passion, her energy, her voice.
The fact that a cosmic field of dust and hydrogen is a nebula only makes the star blaze brighter with appreciative delight. And when she opens her eyes again, the light in them has nothing to do with the Eye of Truth.
She can't describe herself as 'whole again'. There's a piece still missing, one with all the jagged rough edges that a bad personality brings. But in this moment, at least, she feels more herself than she has...
Ever.
"Hey, I'd demand an apology, but the universe won't last long enough for you to give me a proper one!" Kim Dokja, meet Han Suyeong. You've caught glimpses of her for some time now, maybe even a pretty good one here and there. But now here she is at last, her grin and her eyes and her voice the whole package as she picks her head up. "So let's talk repayment instead! How're you gonna make things up to the poor girl you've put through so much?"
Not apparent in her eyes, smile, or voice, because it barely registers in the deepest and darkest corners of her mind, is her quiet terror.
Nothing in all her life could have prepared her to accept just how much this one man means to her.
no subject
She doesn't even object to the touch. Not verbally, not with a violent response, not at all. Despite just waking up, she feels absolutely exhausted. The unclenching of her heart and mind and the violence of this turn of events both have her feeling like she could sleep for a week.
Which she's not gonna do, because look what happens when you do that.
His favorite author. Heh. Does it count, when he loves only half of the things she's written? After all, he --
--remembers what he promised now. Doesn't he?
An author without a reader isn't an author. Some authors, maybe most of them, will say they don't write for other people. They write for themselves. For her, that notion is an obvious joke. Of the two things she's written, one was for someone else alone, and the other because she was good at it, and the praise and renown fed her will to keep going. Which is why despite all her talk, and all the notes she takes, and all the things she files away for inspiration... despite all the revisions she's made to other stories, or even her own... she hasn't truly written a single word since the last scenario.
The feeling isn't like a dam bursting or a floodgate opening. That's too mild, too linear, too simple. No, if she were to put fingers to keyboard and craft the best metaphor she could, she'd start by describing a cosmic field of dust and hydrogen at last condensing to the point where its clumped-up heart finally ignites, bursting into celestial brilliance and flooding everything around it with warmth and light. She has it all back now. Her words, her passion, her energy, her voice.
The fact that a cosmic field of dust and hydrogen is a nebula only makes the star blaze brighter with appreciative delight. And when she opens her eyes again, the light in them has nothing to do with the Eye of Truth.
She can't describe herself as 'whole again'. There's a piece still missing, one with all the jagged rough edges that a bad personality brings. But in this moment, at least, she feels more herself than she has...
Ever.
"Hey, I'd demand an apology, but the universe won't last long enough for you to give me a proper one!" Kim Dokja, meet Han Suyeong. You've caught glimpses of her for some time now, maybe even a pretty good one here and there. But now here she is at last, her grin and her eyes and her voice the whole package as she picks her head up. "So let's talk repayment instead! How're you gonna make things up to the poor girl you've put through so much?"
Not apparent in her eyes, smile, or voice, because it barely registers in the deepest and darkest corners of her mind, is her quiet terror.
Nothing in all her life could have prepared her to accept just how much this one man means to her.