number one thousand

[aneidolon.livejournal.com]

[ the air in the dressing room has suddenly gone very chill, like walking through the door into an icebox. every so often a table rattles, or a couch pillow gets rearranged. a book is picked up, flipped through for a few seconds, and then discarded. ]

[ he doesn't mean to create the air of unease and dread around him -- he's simply lost his bearings, traveling from one plane of existence to the next, bumping into this and that. ]