Jon is so transfixed by the sight of the sky above him that he seems to have entirely forgotten the fact that he’s lying down in a pile of snow and is content to remain there. Murmur was right - it is peaceful. Has Jon ever felt this calm, this relaxed, this … happy? He inhales a quiet, deep breath, then slowly exhales.
No. No, he has not - not in any memorable event his mind chose to store. If Jon were to allow his thoughts to leap headfirst down that rabbit hole, he’d be brooding in no time, but for once, he chooses a different path - he lets it go.
“I … erm,” he all but whispers, “no, I can’t say I have.” Jon’s eyes remain fixed on the sky above as he answers. “I mean - there’s the aurora borealis, of course, back on Earth … but I’ve never seen it in person. Just pictures.”
And pictures couldn’t convey the sense of diminution that washes over Jon, stretched out in the snow under these vast clouds of colored lights. He feels … empty, but in a good way. Like all of the insecurities and traumas he’s collected and carried with him for as long as he can remember have vanished. Like everything that has happened in the past few years, the death and horror and frustration of the Archives and the Fears and the rituals and being The Archivist - none of that matters anymore.
Slowly, a smile spreads across Jon’s face - wide and full of childlike wonder, not those restrained quirks of the mouth he typically musters. It’s only him and Murmur out here; there’s no need to hide the fact that he is, for once, genuinely happy.
Thank you for showing me this, he says, through the mental link.
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No. No, he has not - not in any memorable event his mind chose to store. If Jon were to allow his thoughts to leap headfirst down that rabbit hole, he’d be brooding in no time, but for once, he chooses a different path - he lets it go.
“I … erm,” he all but whispers, “no, I can’t say I have.” Jon’s eyes remain fixed on the sky above as he answers. “I mean - there’s the aurora borealis, of course, back on Earth … but I’ve never seen it in person. Just pictures.”
And pictures couldn’t convey the sense of diminution that washes over Jon, stretched out in the snow under these vast clouds of colored lights. He feels … empty, but in a good way. Like all of the insecurities and traumas he’s collected and carried with him for as long as he can remember have vanished. Like everything that has happened in the past few years, the death and horror and frustration of the Archives and the Fears and the rituals and being The Archivist - none of that matters anymore.
Slowly, a smile spreads across Jon’s face - wide and full of childlike wonder, not those restrained quirks of the mouth he typically musters. It’s only him and Murmur out here; there’s no need to hide the fact that he is, for once, genuinely happy.
Thank you for showing me this, he says, through the mental link.