The atmosphere in the room was different, different from the old, gloomy days he would sit and plan what to eat, plan how to survive another day in school, entirely different from the days he would sit and randomly fantasize possessing a crazy ability.
Today, he was strategizing for a different reason. A reason his old self never thought would come soon. Even now, it somewhat seemed like a dream.
Somewhat.
Clarity was gradually replacing the doubts and fear. Purpose was propelling him.
The broken chandelier's light flickered once, momentarily causing eerie shadows before its dim light came back to life.
The figure sat calmly on a small sofa, leaning forward as if the backrest was a kind of disease. His arms were on his laps, elbows specifically pinned to the laps, hands pressed on his temple.
However, his thoughts were nowhere close to calm, multiple thoughts and ideas intertwining like strands of spaghetti.
