[it's not disinterest that makes Quentin's gaze slide slowly to the left of Jon's face, but there's just something about the way the firelight flickers over the ground that catches his attention for a few seconds. Maybe almost like hands, like Jon said, but he can't be sure.
Whatever it is, it's unsettling and fear churns in his guts like a herd of sick butterflies. He clutches his book tighter to his chest, the title probably visible as
"The Magicians" by Lev Grossman.]
That's how I feel about most of this place? That it's maybe not real? But, I remember dying, so. That's that.
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[it's not disinterest that makes Quentin's gaze slide slowly to the left of Jon's face, but there's just something about the way the firelight flickers over the ground that catches his attention for a few seconds. Maybe almost like hands, like Jon said, but he can't be sure.
Whatever it is, it's unsettling and fear churns in his guts like a herd of sick butterflies. He clutches his book tighter to his chest, the title probably visible as
"The Magicians" by Lev Grossman.]
That's how I feel about most of this place? That it's maybe not real? But, I remember dying, so. That's that.