librarian + 28. (hi ouo )
Send me "Librarian!" + a number and I'll grab the closest book, flip to that page number, and make us a starter using a random line of text from said page!
Book ; Dragon Age, The Stolen Throne Page ; 28 — Sentence ; " He groaned out loud and laid his head back down to stop the spinning room from making him nauseated. "
The light that peacefully snuck in through mildly parted lids, it made him grimace. It stung, made it difficult for him to keep his eyes open for all too long. He wasn’t aware of what had happened, not where he was either but he knew he was alive, and for the moment, that was enough for him to feel content. He hadn't died. He remembered the faint bouts of panic, the spread of cruel, gruesome pain through his entire body. But that was, the last memory he carried. Bothersome as it sounded, it still didn't make him flinch for a single second. Because he still knew his own name, all his own information. What exactly he had indulged in that morning. The only deep, dark abyss of cluelessness was indeed what had happened after he had left his apartment, why he had ended up in a place he couldn't recognize at first glance, and how.
How had he ended up somewhere so far away?
He questioned himself, still not parting his lips to utter a single sound, eyelids still in the process of parting properly. Slow as it was, he didn't have to struggle all too much with getting used to the fluorescent lamps. He had been here before, almost a year ago, and then he had been here for more than a month before being discharged. It made him shoot up from blankets and pillows, grimacing at the way sore muscles and bones protested, cursing because the room was spinning and it made him confused — unfocused.
A vague hint, a flicker by the corner of his eye caught his attention, because he wasn't alone. His mind filled with false hopes in a moment, with thoughts that hadn't been present for months. But he was faced with a complete stranger and he should have known better. Should have known better, than to wish for his entire life to be but a dream he had had when recovering from a coma, or waking up after a deep sleep. But it never would be, he was still living within the grasps of honest truth, and the truth was grim. Wide hues of hazel stared at the stranger for several seconds, gaze holding questions and pain alike. The mere thought of a hospital bed makes his skin crawl, the memories that slither into his mind like poison makes his fingers shake and they curl tightly around themselves, strangling the circulation of blood to his fingertips — rendering both fingers and knuckles to grow white.
He swallowed back the lump in his throat, lowered his head for a second. To regain control. If he was about to break again, if he was about to shatter all over from something this simple, wouldn't do so before he had been discharged and he was safely sitting at home. But he probably wouldn't make it that far this time.
Silence pulsated through his ears, and he groaned out loud and laid his head back down to stop the spinning room from making him nauseated. Maybe it was a bit rude, not to ask for the other's name, for anything really, But Sanggil didn't feel like talking. Hell, he didn't even feel like living at that very moment, when sorrow began to consume everything that he was, all over again, and there was nothing he could do about it. Nobody he could call to take it away, nobody he considered himself being able to lean on in times of great need. Adding to it, that he'd probably be stuck in this damn room for a few days.
" Whoever you are, whatever you have done, thank you and you can leave. "
