[Which is....sort of a lie, sort of not. The circumstances were hateful. Everything that happened...somehow wasn't, even if he sees it with some distaste after the fact. Or maybe that's his regret? His own hindsight?]
[It's harder to think here. The hand is so small, but it feels like a pin skewering a butterfly wing in place.]
[Something feels......off? Not off?]
...I feel sick.
[Is it really sickness. There's something brewing, like some pleasurable sense of nausea in his chest.]
no subject
[Which is....sort of a lie, sort of not. The circumstances were hateful. Everything that happened...somehow wasn't, even if he sees it with some distaste after the fact. Or maybe that's his regret? His own hindsight?]
[It's harder to think here. The hand is so small, but it feels like a pin skewering a butterfly wing in place.]
[Something feels......off? Not off?]
...I feel sick.
[Is it really sickness. There's something brewing, like some pleasurable sense of nausea in his chest.]