let life be like music and death a note unsaid
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Ratio nods. “Good,” he says. “No heavy machinery or other potentially dangerous tasks. I wouldn’t recommend travel, either. Set alarms to remind yourself to eat, if necessary.”
“Just stay at home and do nothing,” Aventurine says dully. “Sounds like a great way to fix Wanting To Do Nothing disease.”
(Those who step into the shadows of IX become Self-Annihilators, drained of the will to live and desiring only their own death. After Penacony, Aventurine's not feeling so hot.)
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Every morning, he asks Aventurine how he’s feeling. In the early days, Aventurine would sigh and say something like, “Tired,” and eat breakfast and take a shower without being told to. Veritas could usually manage to get a little conversation out of him during breakfast; explain to him what avenues he’d be looking into today, ask him if there was anything he needed, if he had any preferences for today’s meals. Taste may be irrelevant, but texture was still a factor, wasn’t it? And Aventurine would usually answer, even if only briefly.
Today, Aventurine isn’t responding at all.
(A sidequel to "life is for the living". Ratio's having a really bad month.)
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