DAY 10 | Evening

[incesturbation]

[ In the Grand Hall, twin Fairest are standing near the doorway to the Master Bedroom, arguing with hardly a care for whoever passes by. The male Servant is walking a coin over his knuckles. ]

"No, no, it's this way."

"Nonsense, that's far too casual." [ His female counterpart snags the coin just as it reaches his pinky. She puts the coin in her pocket, then makes one appear from thin air. ] "This would be more effective."

"If it's simply a matter of attention, shouldn't it be something more like this?" [ The man takes the coin back from her, then seems to pass it through his palm and catches it in his other hand. ]

[ The two continue to bicker in much the same vein. If anyone happens to watch the debate too closely, they will find themselves suddenly enthralled, unable to look away or move - but still able to speak, at least if they concentrate on it for a few moments. ]

I dreamed a dream | Day 010 | Library;

[magewarden]

[ Morning ]

The library is vast, which makes searching for anything specific akin to trying to find a needle in a haystack -- not that he's ever tried, himself, but supposedly that is quite a tricky feat. Daylen is pacing the wings, skimming titles on the spines of books in search of answers. In search of a diversion. In search of something to keep his mind off what he saw in his vine-induced nightmares, in search of something to keep him from dwelling on the strange thoughts (visions? dreams? memories?) that plagued him.

His concentration on his search, his distraction, is enough that he pays little attention to the world around him as he paces the wings of the library and thinks.

[ Evening ]

The Fairest Servant has been trawling the library all day for information on dreams -- for why the vines might have made them sleep, might have made them dream so, for some semblance of understanding of the whole mess.

It makes him uncomfortable in some way he can't explain, the idea of being trapped in a dream, something nagging at him in the back of his mind and so here he is -- flicking through books endlessly looking for answers.

He finds little in the way of help. Most of them he can't read, some of them appear to be inane to the point of nonsense and some trick him with familiar words only to somehow be written in a way which his mind refuses to parse.

By the time the end is drawing near he is near enough resorting to grabbing anything that looks remotely related, flicking through it with dwindling attention and rising frustration.

He grabs a leather-bound book from a shelf haphazardly, eyes skimming over the worn cover. Beauty?

Flicking it open he slides down to sit with his back to the shelves and starts to read slowly, concentration a little lacking by now.

He slides sideways near enough instantly, slumping against the nearby pillar and arm hugging the now closed book absently to himself. When he awakens with a start he blinks off the dredges of his dream, shivering as he attempts to sit more upright.

Strange, he doesn't even remember a thing about the book.

Opening it again he slumps quickly once more.

For someone who enjoys reading, he's really having trouble staying awake. Perhaps he's spent too long in this place.