[The answer to that is no, but the lack of something in front of the door makes him side-eye it for far longer than normal reason would dictate. He doesn't want to leave it alone, and has half a mind to drag the desk back over—the integrity of her creation be damned, He'll make it into a circle, a mockery of a tower, and the desk will stay and guard its place until the city rots (into dust and blood and bone and ash)—but he doesn't. Not yet.
He grimaces instead, checks his thoughts, tries to ignore another faint but insistent, scratching whisper (not going to die, damn you all to hell), and moves to join her, no doubt breaking another one of his mind's unwritten rules by doing so.]
no subject
He grimaces instead, checks his thoughts, tries to ignore another faint but insistent, scratching whisper (not going to die, damn you all to hell), and moves to join her, no doubt breaking another one of his mind's unwritten rules by doing so.]
I feel like a damn kid.