(no subject)

[knightoftheswan]

Sometimes there's nothing, nothing to be done and nothing left to feel. No matter what comes, Lohengrin can't find any response. His insides feel dull, numb to both barbs and salves. Days have become mechanical, staying alive for no clear reason. It doesn't much matter where he is, his quarters at home or the sofa he's reclining across now in Milliways. Everything might as well be the same for all he cares.

Life keeps happening around the Knight but he doesn't participate.