opened : 07. 28. 2022. |
closed : 08. 28. 2022. |
completed : 08. 01. 2023. |
| | | | |
⤜⤞ this is crazy. this is real. this is love. without love, what does the world amount to ⤝⤛
@_-windflower-_2022
───── ≠ ─────
───── ≠...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
IT HAD BEEN A FUCKING MONTH SINCE ECHO VANISHED
Joon.
It's not the first time that Joon has been woken up by Echo's voice, and if she continues to be gone for much longer, it very likely won't be the last either. Of course, if Echo is gone for much longer, she might not come back at all.
The thought sends his stomach rolling, and Joon has to force himself to relax, laying back down on his back to stare up at the dark ceiling. It's not midnight, at the very least, and the first promising streams of light have turned the sky hazy. Scattered clouds are meshing together, so it wouldn't be all that surprised to see a morning rainstorm.
He doesn't really know how much longer he can actually hold out. He's trying, really, he is, to hold them all together, but it doesn't feel the same.
Echo.
The name sends a burning sensation down his throat, deep cold snaking through his veins as if whatever magic is inside of him is reacting back to the thought. It feels like an internalized snowstorm, icy arcana coating his mouth. He doesn't hate it, honestly. It gives him a little hope, that his magic, his power, his whatever is still reacting to her name, like it was entirely its own entity. Like it knew she was still breathing.
No one has found her. Not even Cue. All of their hopes seem to be dwindling by the day, and the island seems quieter than ever. Sighing to himself, Joon pushes himself back up to sit on his bed entirely. He's accepted the fact that he's not going to get a full night's sleep as long as Echo is missing, so really he probably should get used to it. Especially if she never gets back.
Especially if she never gets back.
Even the thought sends a bitter feeling down his stomach, clenching it in phantasmal talons as that flicker of sharp cold retracts its own touch.
Joon pushed himself off the bed, strolling over to the window to watch the clouds for a moment, then closed his eyes. Echo liked the rain. Not as much as the snow, but she liked it enough to want to sit on the closed patio with her notebook to write. The memory is painted in starlight, and after a brief moment, Joon opened his eyes again.
Echo hadn't given up on any of them. Ever. It just wasn't in her nature, and if it had been, she'd probably have gone against it anyway. Even after everything that had happened to her, she didn't give up. Not on her life, or her friends, or how desperately she loved people. There had to be something; anything that would tell him where she could have gone.
