[ Sometime after the deadly showdown, after washing up to heartbreak and to Augustine's absence, God— pacing jittery circles in his house, scrubbing the bare phalanges of his fingers through his hair, gnashing his fucking teeth while Pyrrha tries to keep a leash on him— indulges in the ancient self-soothing technique of shitposting at all the friends you've lost. ]
text | un: first | july 12th
So no session on Friday, then?
[ Ha ha ha.
He doesn't expect a reply. ]