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Marsh

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2025-07-02 18:34:00 -07:00
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@ -1,4 +1,4 @@
As expected, sleep did not come. Exhaustion pulled at me, exerting its own gravity, but too many emotions crowded it out. Too many emotions and too many thoughts. I spent a few minutes chiding myself --- shouldn't I sleep, if only to be more refreshed for the next day? --- before giving in and letting my mind circle around each of those emotions, each of those thoughts. I have no idea how long I cycled.
As expected, sleep did not come. Exhaustion pulled at me, exerting its own gravity, but too many emotions crowded it out. Too many emotions and too many thoughts. I spent a few minutes chiding myself—shouldn't I sleep, if only to be more refreshed for the next day?—before giving in and letting my mind circle around each of those emotions, each of those thoughts. I have no idea how long I cycled.
There was the faintest brush against my sensorium. Vos.
@ -64,9 +64,9 @@ I thought of Marsh, their laugh, their words, their open expression, the way the
Hanne rolled away from me and I took that as my chance to at least no longer be laying down. I forked a new instance standing beside the bed and then quit, just in case the motion of me getting out of bed might wake her.
I needed out of the house. Nowhere public --- I didn't want to see what others in the System were dealing with right then. There would be time for that later, but for now I needed out and away from everyone.
I needed out of the house. Nowhere public—I didn't want to see what others in the System were dealing with right then. There would be time for that later, but for now I needed out and away from everyone.
The sim I wound up in was simple and bucolic. There was a pagoda. There was a field, grass cut --- or eaten, I suppose, given the sheep in the distance --- short, stretching from stone wall to stone wall. It was day --- it didn't even seem like the owners included a day/night cycle --- and foggy. Cool but not cold. Damp but not wet.
The sim I wound up in was simple and bucolic. There was a pagoda. There was a field, grass cut—or eaten, I suppose, given the sheep in the distance—short, stretching from stone wall to stone wall. It was day—it didn't even seem like the owners included a day/night cycle—and foggy. Cool but not cold. Damp but not wet.
There was a bench in the pagoda, at least, so I made my way there, trudging tiredly up the whitewashed wood of the steps to sit on the well-worn seats. Whoever made this place seemed to have put more effort into the pagoda than the field. Fog like that was usually the sign of a border of a sim of limited size, so it was clearly just this single paddock, the grass and sheep and stone walls likely purchases from the exchange.