Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-25808351-20190303210034/@comment-30014014-20190305025843

Oh so fixated on his hands, Prad sculptures his sight at every detail, taking every jet of color. Enthralled by the sheer imposition it breathes, the protecting potential it gives away. Marvelled by his utter containement within.

He lowers his head, masked from the outside, yet privy to the same environment. The night would be spent laying on the bed barren, hindered from the world in his iron sheet that was his armor, dreaming...dreaming of himself walking, running, to distances yet to been forseen. This dream, smeared with sorrow...