(no subject)

[dot_fennel]

1 am, T + 3 days: As advertised. The back half of the room smells like socks, the front like fresh wood shelves. Tomorrow this ends... not the smells, actually, just "this". It'll be like the end of The Sandman, where creepy ghost boy becomes Dream except nobody really cares anymore because they were attached to the personality, man, not the job description. Except that in this case both Old Goth Dream and New Ghost Boy Dream are wooden bookshelves. And their tendency to not speak is less of a romantic affectation and more of a necessary trait to keep me from freaking out and selling them to the furniture circus.