Sitting in the freshly-fallen snow, he had efficiently closed himself off from society. He was isolated away from society and its whirlpool of emotions. He did not need to feel. He needed to be numb. He needed no emotions right now.
Corrin wanted to recount a tale.
The beginning was a slow build, a simmer between him and his opposite that soon transformed into a bubbling rising action. There was conflict in the very first few pages, from the shining, dynamic character meeting the character that wished to remain static. It was all so fast-paced, a type of story that Corrin never really enjoyed.
But this captured him.
Imagination faded in and out of reality, the yarn spinning and twisting. He was a page-turner, and all Corrin had to do was skin over the words to truly capture the meaning. The story shifted and was all over the place, and Corrin dutifully read on.
All good stories have a good climax. The one Corrin read was executed perfectly and unexpectedly.
"Hey, Corrin, Corrin!"
"What are you in need of, Robin?"
"Can I ask you something?"
"You already are."
"Corrin!"
"My apologies. Continue, Robin, please."
"Corrin…be my boyfriend!"
"…Quite bold."
"I assume that's a yes?"
"You assume correctly."
The sound of softly stirring wind was music to Corrin's ears. It served as the backdrop to his story, his own tale. The words he fell in love with, the story he cherished.
The distastefully-written, worthless piece of crap.
The story Corrin lacked an ending. After all of the excitement and jubilant dialogue and solid plot, the story was left unfinished. Abruptly it stopped with no explanation. Corrin was left was nothing. All his attention was given to the story, and it was wasted. He stopped turning the pages. He stopped being dynamic. He stopped giving Corrin a reason to dutifully read on.
He left Corrin feeling incomplete.
He gave Robin happiness; in exchange, Corrin received sadness. He gave Robin joy; in exchange, Corrin received misery.
He'd gave Robin a cheerful life.
In exchange, Corrin received a sorrowful death.
The gravestone was covered with a light blanket of snow. He could still see Robin's engraved name, engraved day of birth, engraved day of death.
Corrin's face became wet. Tears dripped onto his gloves.
The emotions found him.
His tale ended horribly. The resolution was unsatisfactory. He closed the book and locked it away.
It was the worst story.
Hey, 'tis be…well, I'd changed my name for the billionth time but that is because I fucking threw myself into the Erased/Boku Dake ga Inai Machi fandom and now I'm stuck there and Satoru Fujinuma has become my life. I mean, that cinnamon roll has been through so much oh my God #LoveSatoruFujinuma2K16. So…
Hey, 'tis be Sato! It has a nice ring to it... I'm sorry for the story being so short, but school makes it really hard to work on fanfiction. That, and writer's block. I'm finding really hard to write more than a hundred words, ranging from multi-chaptered stories to oneshots to the prize fanfiction that I still need to give out oh my God.
Ugh. Summer. Please. Come to me.