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indent── 𝗹𝗼𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 the fenrir castle; fenrir alleys ── 𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗴 doe ──
indentToday was the day. At least, that's what Christopher was telling to the person in the mirror of his bedroom, to him, with just the sound of his
breathing to fill the space he was in in a place that was, if not for that, without sound. Outside in the garden there was the singing of the birds,
and inside of the castle was the thundering chorus of the footsteps of workers. But they were too far removed from him, something he was
separate from. His bedroom was like that all of the time, too big of a room but with too little to fill it with, if not him— Well, not all of the
time, maybe.
indentThere was a time when Christopher would leave his bed in the middle of the night with a book in his hand, to sit down by the window and read to
the morning sun. There was a time when this place was home to him, and if someone asked him then what had changed, he would not have an answer
for them; just that one day the dome ceiling of his bedroom went from something to comfort him to looking like a dome of iron at the top of a birdcage,
and that one day he saw that the sunlight streaming in from his windows, the heavy curtains drawn back for the morning, didn’t quite touch his toes
from where he was standing at the mirror. But, staring at his face in the glass, he told himself that today was the day. He was going to turn away from
the person in the mirror, the face that today he didn’t recognize, and he was going to step out into the sun.
███indentToday was the day. At least, that's what Christopher was telling to the person in the mirror of his bedroom, to him, with just the sound of his
breathing to fill the space he was in in a place that was, if not for that, without sound. Outside in the garden there was the singing of the birds,
and inside of the castle was the thundering chorus of the footsteps of workers. But they were too far removed from him, something he was
separate from. His bedroom was like that all of the time, too big of a room but with too little to fill it with, if not him— Well, not all of the
time, maybe.
indentThere was a time when Christopher would leave his bed in the middle of the night with a book in his hand, to sit down by the window and read to
the morning sun. There was a time when this place was home to him, and if someone asked him then what had changed, he would not have an answer
for them; just that one day the dome ceiling of his bedroom went from something to comfort him to looking like a dome of iron at the top of a birdcage,
and that one day he saw that the sunlight streaming in from his windows, the heavy curtains drawn back for the morning, didn’t quite touch his toes
from where he was standing at the mirror. But, staring at his face in the glass, he told himself that today was the day. He was going to turn away from
the person in the mirror, the face that today he didn’t recognize, and he was going to step out into the sun.
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