[Utena turns her back for a moment, though it's just to lean against the sill again. If she is uneasy, it doesn't show — save the idle clenching and unclenching of her fist. On one finger, a ring glitters. She is trying, so hard, not to think of death. Death unsettles her, one of the few things that does. It's the period at the end of a sentence, an ending from which there is no return, nothing happy.
The thing that had taken residence in her head now picks up on this, this current of anxious unhappiness, but Utena's easy posture doesn't change.]
Maybe if we knew, we could figure out where we're supposed to go.
no subject
[Utena turns her back for a moment, though it's just to lean against the sill again. If she is uneasy, it doesn't show — save the idle clenching and unclenching of her fist. On one finger, a ring glitters. She is trying, so hard, not to think of death. Death unsettles her, one of the few things that does. It's the period at the end of a sentence, an ending from which there is no return, nothing happy.
The thing that had taken residence in her head now picks up on this, this current of anxious unhappiness, but Utena's easy posture doesn't change.]
Maybe if we knew, we could figure out where we're supposed to go.