It's like ripples in water before it is like actual sound, quiet and shy notes and words carried along the edges of Zelos' subconscious as he stares off into the void. Immobile, it takes him a few minutes. This is... a song, held by a young, rippling voice. Another flash of blue across his mind brings forth some clarity, but--what does a colour even help with? What's the significance of blue against white...?
Why would anyone sing before the cannon--?
Why those colours? Who's singing, who? Why? It takes Zelos a few tries before he can cling onto any of the aimless words, and when he does, he finds himself slowly frowning. They feel like water through his fingers, formless and quiet. Muffled by static. Sluggish. Why? He focuses on the words, trying to pick anything he can recognize among them, but to no avail. These aren't words he's heard before, and they keep ebbing in the shores of his subconscious like cold water, white noise against the ringing and buzzing of his own stress. Harmonious, melodic, but utterly nonsensical. Why? Why would anyone sing? Why sing? Why sing?
Zelos exhales harshly. His eyes don't close, but at least they aren't so wide anymore. The song carries with it a blue glow against his eyelids, held there before the blinding white of the room's walls.
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Static, ringing, buzzing.
Static, ringing...
Humming.
It's like ripples in water before it is like actual sound, quiet and shy notes and words carried along the edges of Zelos' subconscious as he stares off into the void. Immobile, it takes him a few minutes. This is... a song, held by a young, rippling voice. Another flash of blue across his mind brings forth some clarity, but--what does a colour even help with? What's the significance of blue against white...?
Why would anyone sing before the cannon--?
Why those colours? Who's singing, who? Why? It takes Zelos a few tries before he can cling onto any of the aimless words, and when he does, he finds himself slowly frowning. They feel like water through his fingers, formless and quiet. Muffled by static. Sluggish. Why? He focuses on the words, trying to pick anything he can recognize among them, but to no avail. These aren't words he's heard before, and they keep ebbing in the shores of his subconscious like cold water, white noise against the ringing and buzzing of his own stress. Harmonious, melodic, but utterly nonsensical. Why? Why would anyone sing? Why sing? Why sing?
Zelos exhales harshly. His eyes don't close, but at least they aren't so wide anymore. The song carries with it a blue glow against his eyelids, held there before the blinding white of the room's walls.