Synopsis: Drabble about Steven in the back of TB's mind.
How many years had it been since Steven lost his body and for the greater part of…however long it had been since then- his mind as well Steven was very much thrown out of the loop of the real world. When he had been trapped in his own mental prison, and when ever he had the luck and mental strength to rise up from the black primordial haze that was the sub-conscience, he often crafted delusional worlds for himself. Once in a great while, abstract pieces of information from the real world would float down into his abyss. Often times he didn't care. There was no use in caring. He had learned long ago that it was useless to even try to do anything and so even being aware became useless. If anything, it was a burdensome reminder of his position in life. Sometimes his little world would go on undisturbed for weeks, even months. Sometimes he'd have to start from scratch, simply throwing in random scenarios and made up people. He'd been a writer back then so it wasn't hard at all.
In the span of 3 years, Steven had lived many different lives and timelines.
If he were to one day simply cease to exist, he wouldn't know.
In short, he had been happy and perfectly content.
