[He sounds relieved? Quietly happy, seeing it. Something familiar, and really a bit personal, that hr can share. But he stills in front of the carousel, watching it run and whirl before them. And then it happens. Like in the park before, but somehow worse. It flashes for those initial few seconds, Jon blinking like something's in his eyes. But he sees it. That horrible, dark, screaming carousel of victims. Spinning even faster the longer he looks at it, yet he can't tear his eyes away. It's not really there, he tries to remind himself. But he can even hear Not!Sasha's lilting, strange laugh in the back of his memory. Reminding him that she saw what he is before he became the Archivist. She knows he's alone, that he got them all killed. His limbs go rigid in the evening air, the lights of the innocent carousel shining over the green of his own eyes. The screams in his memory almost drown out his mumblings- ]
Your face is not your face is not your face around the curling carousel it twists in place to take from you and all the tattered stolen souls who sense of me is swollen and distended into nothing.
[The mumbling continue, like an archive of words being spilled out from memory but quietly, just a whisper. He can't tear his eyes away.]
no subject
[He sounds relieved? Quietly happy, seeing it. Something familiar, and really a bit personal, that hr can share. But he stills in front of the carousel, watching it run and whirl before them. And then it happens. Like in the park before, but somehow worse. It flashes for those initial few seconds, Jon blinking like something's in his eyes. But he sees it. That horrible, dark, screaming carousel of victims. Spinning even faster the longer he looks at it, yet he can't tear his eyes away. It's not really there, he tries to remind himself. But he can even hear Not!Sasha's lilting, strange laugh in the back of his memory. Reminding him that she saw what he is before he became the Archivist. She knows he's alone, that he got them all killed. His limbs go rigid in the evening air, the lights of the innocent carousel shining over the green of his own eyes. The screams in his memory almost drown out his mumblings- ]
Your face is not your face is not your face around the curling carousel it twists in place to take from you and all the tattered stolen souls who sense of me is swollen and distended into nothing.
[The mumbling continue, like an archive of words being spilled out from memory but quietly, just a whisper. He can't tear his eyes away.]