@st0way || Mystery Meme
“When you're old, you don't need to sleep.”
“Is that right?” Laugh in his words. Hard to say if it's a disbelieving sort, or just amusement. “Well. It's a good night for it.” Not sleeping, that is.
The moon is high and bright, full or close enough to it that it'd be hard for Henry at least to name it as anything other. A warm feathery wind swirls through the humid air, keeping it from accumulating into a stagnant crush. There's no sight of it yet, not a wisp nor even distant roll, but something in him says a storm approaches. A big one at that, harbinger of the growing heat of tropical summer. It's why he's there. Out on the shore to meet it like an old friend, golden eyes turned skyward.
A deluge would do him good, though it's hard to articulate why. “I know this witch,” he says instead, drawing his eyes down to his current company, “she says her mother taught her to bottle lightning, that it turns to liquid silver and brings bright ideas.”
