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He looks up at the sky. “My entire adult life,” he says, “I don’t ever remember looking at a different moon.”
“Well, it’d be odd if the moon looked different now, would it?” Rosaria quips.
Kaeya looks at her, confused. Then, he remembers. He hums, and looks back at the night sky. “I suppose you’re right.”
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You have destiny. It comes in the form of a string. Everyone has scissors. You try to cut it. You find that the string comes in the form of something metallic.
You realize you could never escape your fate.
(You also realize that your fate had been woven along with the grief that rocks you to sleep.)
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Bookmark Notes:
09-01-25 <3333
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