Vhalar 30, Arc 719
It seemed as it had become harder for him to stay focused since he had stopped turning his feelings off, the Mortalborn realized as he sat behind the desk made of expensive dark wood in his study, looking at the same glass bowl that he had been looking at for the previous twenty bits. He was not really tempted to use Thespian, one of the abilities that Syroa’s Blessing afforded him again, though, at least not for longer than a couple of trills.
Despite that challenge, the world was so much better and brighter since he had allowed more than just logic to motivate his actions again, since he had allowed himself to experience joy and happiness again and maybe even love or something that came close to love. In order to understand, to truly understand, he had realized, you needed to feel.
He reached for the bowl and let a finger run across the cool, nearly translucent surface, very gently, before he let go again, trying to inhale and exhale slowly and evenly, his eyes half-closed, sitting completely still, as if he were not a living, breathing being, but a statue. He tried not to think about to the crackling of the fire in the fireplace or the city outside his window, and the snow that was falling heavily, as it almost always did around this time of the arc.
He tried not to think about his servants that were going about their work, about his assistant Plia, about his students, about his thesis, about his mentor who had been gone for such a long time now and who he missed much more than he had thought that he would, but focused on what was in front of him, until the world outside his field of vision ceased to exist. After what seemed like an eternity, after what was almost as exhausting as physical labour, after setback after setback, there was a moment of calm and clarity, quite unexpectedly.
It seemed as it had become harder for him to stay focused since he had stopped turning his feelings off, the Mortalborn realized as he sat behind the desk made of expensive dark wood in his study, looking at the same glass bowl that he had been looking at for the previous twenty bits. He was not really tempted to use Thespian, one of the abilities that Syroa’s Blessing afforded him again, though, at least not for longer than a couple of trills.
Despite that challenge, the world was so much better and brighter since he had allowed more than just logic to motivate his actions again, since he had allowed himself to experience joy and happiness again and maybe even love or something that came close to love. In order to understand, to truly understand, he had realized, you needed to feel.
He reached for the bowl and let a finger run across the cool, nearly translucent surface, very gently, before he let go again, trying to inhale and exhale slowly and evenly, his eyes half-closed, sitting completely still, as if he were not a living, breathing being, but a statue. He tried not to think about to the crackling of the fire in the fireplace or the city outside his window, and the snow that was falling heavily, as it almost always did around this time of the arc.
He tried not to think about his servants that were going about their work, about his assistant Plia, about his students, about his thesis, about his mentor who had been gone for such a long time now and who he missed much more than he had thought that he would, but focused on what was in front of him, until the world outside his field of vision ceased to exist. After what seemed like an eternity, after what was almost as exhausting as physical labour, after setback after setback, there was a moment of calm and clarity, quite unexpectedly.
