He knitted skies of ink, eyelids growing heavier with each stitch. Sitting in the skies amongst the stars he would work away, resisting the succumbing urge to fall into the few clouds and deep into slumber and dreams of daylight dancing in his subconscious.728Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡujsXpPTnch
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Click, clack, the metal needles were smooth against his own rough fingers, as they would bound the strange fabric blanket of black.728Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡc9wdwrAFp5
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He didn't feel anything, mindlessly working away as if he were just a machine, possibly even in need of oiling. It's gears had a thirst for apperception, not ostracism into the depths of the dark abyss.728Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPBQSW0F70s
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Cold chills would find their way into his soft black sweater with encrusted with moonstones. It was a gift from the moon itself, and funnily enough, it was his birthstone, and it's precious gems fitted his aesthetic beautifully. But nevertheless, no matter how pretty he looked, he still felt nothing inside of him, like another hollowed tree deep in the forest, withered in solitary.728Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRcw3SKYUJH
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Watching from afar, he was only a cluster of stars, suspended in the cold, completely bereft of life.
Penana
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