eyes of tomorrow

Oneshot

It is commonly said a job is a prison of your own making. You have to agree, although your shackles are much more physical than usual. Sure, being the Archivist does not have an expiry date, unless you die, and who knows when that will happen, or even if it will happen? You don't. No one does. These shackles will bind you to the for as long as you can see.

Well, perhaps even longer: nowadays, when you pop your extra eyes out - thin needles, insert and let go because pain doesn't stop you anymore - they simply grow again with a few quick blinks, popping behind your eyelids, the ones in your arms simply glaring at you for having taken them out, the ones in your body straining the muscles behind them and making you feel cramped.

It's a pain in the ass, because soon after, you'll feel like feeding, and you try to prolong it as much as possible, make one session of feeding last as long as possible.

It's easier to call it feeding than what it is: vomiting words out to form a story until your grumbling stomach isn't empty anymore. You haven't eaten food in weeks, but these stories satisfy your hunger. You don't think too much about it, really, because if you do, you'll lose yourself to it: stop being Jon , and become... The Beholding itself, king of apocalypse, the all-seeing servant of the end. It's not a pleasant feeling.

The Eye watches the world crumble, and so will you, because really, you don't have any other choice.