LYRE
I'm slouched in the only chair in this depressing motel room that doesn't look ready to collapse, scrolling through my Divinity App while Jack-Eye makes significantly more noise in the shower than any one person should. The constant drumming of water hitting tile makes a surprisingly tolerable white noise—not that I'd ever admit it. There's something satisfying about the rhythmic sound of someone else cleaning off the day's grime that doesn't involve me lifting a finger.
I have another direct message. Third one today. People are far too interested in what I'm doing, which means every step I take is going to be analyzed for Balance, damn it.
[CHAOS: Feels like the old times, doesn't it, Witchlet?]
I snort. He's been unusually talkative lately, which never bodes well. When Chaos gets chatty, worlds tend to crumble. Or at least have very bad days.
My thumb pauses over a new notification, pulsing red at the top of my screen.
