[He sits up runs a hand through Emet's hair, glancing around the construct and then down at the man under him.
His fingertips trace Emet's throat, his clavicle, eyes half closing.]
I filled a crystal with it once.
The memories. Our home. Little things.
[His eyes do close, and where his fingertips mingle with Emet's soul he shares them, the little details he preserved before time eroded the rest. The way the light fell through the curtains on the wall just over there, the potted plants, the little curios left around the place, gifts from friends or from one adventurous friend.
Even more intimate things, the layout of the bedroom, how Hythlodaeus never made the bed, the crystals scattered on a desk, concepts to review, a hairbrush on the bedside table, not everything, not every detail, but as many as he can recall, as he's worn into his own memory by revisiting over and over.]
Re: Day 95
His fingertips trace Emet's throat, his clavicle, eyes half closing.]
I filled a crystal with it once.
[His eyes do close, and where his fingertips mingle with Emet's soul he shares them, the little details he preserved before time eroded the rest. The way the light fell through the curtains on the wall just over there, the potted plants, the little curios left around the place, gifts from friends or from one adventurous friend.
Even more intimate things, the layout of the bedroom, how Hythlodaeus never made the bed, the crystals scattered on a desk, concepts to review, a hairbrush on the bedside table, not everything, not every detail, but as many as he can recall, as he's worn into his own memory by revisiting over and over.]