bottles of reasons have now reached the ceiling

There was little in the world that Ishiah liked less than uncertainty. Almost worse than knowing Robin was gone had been that period of waiting, hoping and almost believing that the puck's form would appear in an instant, that his smile would flash and his laughter peal like the ringing of bells, reassuring his featherduster that nothing wrong had happened at all, he'd only dipped to the side to appreciate the hydrangeas. Hope was a powerful thing to have, but to have it seep away with every passing second was painful, almost like igniting a flame to the air in his lungs and burning it all away.

This wasn't quite on the same level, but Ishiah knew right now that he'd done something the night prior, only he couldn't remember what. He saw everything with alarming clarity until the first taste of ambrosia. Then everything was simply a blur of color.

While it didn't necessarily mean that Ishiah had done anything worth regretting, it amounted to him falling back into behaviors he had so recently sworn off. And it threw into sharper relief that which he was missing more than his wings, than his home.

Robin.

Groaning lightly as his temples pounded, Ishiah went to sit at the front steps of his hut, braving the sun and figuring that whatever added pain he received from the light and the freezing cold atmosphere outside was probably deserved.