[ sunlight doesn't reach the deepest, grimiest parts of the library. it would be a lie to say it ever did, that the library was ever graced with the promise of the sun's golden rays. it could have been, once, but that's lost to the library now. this is her domain, her birthplace and her very tomb all in one. it doesn't matter if she ever feels the warmth of the sun on her human skin anymore— maybe it never did. ]
Oh?
[ the dingy, grey, lonely, monochrome library is blinding bright for a moment. something is spat out at her with all the ceremonial respect of a used napkin being thrown into a trash. angela, on her lonely throne, body wrapped in the cold, freeing feeling of bird's feathers, muses out loud as a memory floods her mind. ]
A truly nostalgic thing to see. A mere fragment of the invitation process. To me, now, ...it's almost like seeing a ghost.
[ how long has it been? years upon years, stacked up like books, teetering on the edge, ready to tumble and break apart. is this the moment, finally? all the same, she hasn't sent out an invitation. she doesn't much care. a problem is barely something angela can muster up the energy to care about; a tiny spider scuttles along the cover of an old, worn book. it lives here as much as she does. ]
Receiving guests in this manner feels new again... [ from her throne, she barely looks for more than a moment before a chill reaches up her spine.
a pause.
her gaze roves over the image before her; a figure cloaked in black and the agony of their own existence. the sunlight has never touched down within the lonely walls of the library, but— ]
... [ a noise escapes her. it is too tired to be surprised. too wrapped in grief and perhaps a touch of hesitancy, but... it is there. she blinks. angela only speaks when she realize she has forgotten to breathe. ]
As I sit here now, I can't help but imagine that you're not really living at all.
[ spoken as if she knows the feeling herself, spoken with breathlessly and winded from lungs that she killed for. spilling his blood gave birth to the pale librarian, the vision cloaked in raven's feathers. she's nothing more than a caged bird.
and yet, looking at him writing on the ground... the pale librarian even wonders if she should be calling herself angela. ]
no subject
Oh?
[ the dingy, grey, lonely, monochrome library is blinding bright for a moment. something is spat out at her with all the ceremonial respect of a used napkin being thrown into a trash. angela, on her lonely throne, body wrapped in the cold, freeing feeling of bird's feathers, muses out loud as a memory floods her mind. ]
A truly nostalgic thing to see. A mere fragment of the invitation process. To me, now, ...it's almost like seeing a ghost.
[ how long has it been? years upon years, stacked up like books, teetering on the edge, ready to tumble and break apart. is this the moment, finally? all the same, she hasn't sent out an invitation. she doesn't much care. a problem is barely something angela can muster up the energy to care about; a tiny spider scuttles along the cover of an old, worn book. it lives here as much as she does. ]
Receiving guests in this manner feels new again... [ from her throne, she barely looks for more than a moment before a chill reaches up her spine.
a pause.
her gaze roves over the image before her; a figure cloaked in black and the agony of their own existence. the sunlight has never touched down within the lonely walls of the library, but— ]
... [ a noise escapes her. it is too tired to be surprised. too wrapped in grief and perhaps a touch of hesitancy, but... it is there. she blinks. angela only speaks when she realize she has forgotten to breathe. ]
As I sit here now, I can't help but imagine that you're not really living at all.
[ spoken as if she knows the feeling herself, spoken with breathlessly and winded from lungs that she killed for. spilling his blood gave birth to the pale librarian, the vision cloaked in raven's feathers. she's nothing more than a caged bird.
and yet, looking at him writing on the ground... the pale librarian even wonders if she should be calling herself angela. ]