It was late, and yet Antonin showed no signs of sleeping. No, instead the room was filled with the scratching of a pen across parchment, new thoughts and theories being scribbled down before they could be forgotten.
But the scratching abruptly ceases, as a new sound fills the space: music.
His eyes wander, up, up towards the shelf where he had set the gift the other redheaded fae had given him. He was not sure where, or even how he had acquired a Garlean radio, nor did he have any intention of asking. Instead he merely enjoyed the gift for what it was.
But some of that enjoyment had been dampened lately, for the sounds of music had been replaced by news reports growing more and more grim.
His eyes slide closed as he listens; it was just a bit of old g-pop, something that would have been unremarkable a year or so ago, but now it sounds sweet to his ears.
And so he stops to listen, and remember when things were different. When he himself had been different. When he might have actually believed in something besides himself.
But then the moment passes along with the end of the song. A soft sigh leaves his lips, even as he shakes his head a little. He had been far more foolish then.
It wasn't a mistake that he would make twice.
