05-14-2020, 06:22 PM
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[div style="width: 300px; max-height: 100px; height: overflow; overflow: scroll; padding-bottom: 5px; margin-top: -5px; font-family: georgia; font-size: 8pt; color: #152232; letter-spacing: 0px; text-align: justify;"]He kept fancying that Ivan was absorbed in something — something inward and important — that he was striving toward some goal, perhaps very hard to attain.
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pixel by tricky
[/td][td][div style="width: 300px; max-height: 100px; height: overflow; overflow: scroll; padding-bottom: 5px; margin-top: -5px; font-family: georgia; font-size: 8pt; color: #152232; letter-spacing: 0px; text-align: justify;"]He kept fancying that Ivan was absorbed in something — something inward and important — that he was striving toward some goal, perhaps very hard to attain.
— Бра́тья Карама́зовы
The wind took an abrupt shift and Ivan stiffened upon tasting the scent of his brother nearby. He swallowed, one paw raised in the air. Ahead was the library, Ivan's final place of solace. Home no longer held a concrete meaning to him, it was reduced to rubble and stole his mother's life. Ivan was accustomed to feeling alone — he may always be the odd one out of his peers. But this, well, nobody could see this coming.
And it was mainly fear of the unknown, and the ramifications of his theories that caused Ivan to grieve over what had happened. That this was it. That would be the last day he spent with his mother. And there was no hope for eternal life if there was no soul.
He bore his own survivor's guilt, but he wasn't the one who saw her right before she died. That honor (if it is permissible to call such a terrible thing honor, but what did it matter, Ivan does not believe in virtue) was given to Atticus and perhaps Simon and Aurum, he wasn't sure. His memory was hazy, as if he was desperately trying to discard it in the landfill of his brain.
Ivan knew Atticus was shutting himself out, so a chance to catch him in the open was in his paws now. And so he follows the trail and pawprints all the way up to the edge, tensing as he realizes the direction. Ivan bares his teeth and sinks his claws into the ground, writhing in internal wrath.
And it was mainly fear of the unknown, and the ramifications of his theories that caused Ivan to grieve over what had happened. That this was it. That would be the last day he spent with his mother. And there was no hope for eternal life if there was no soul.
He bore his own survivor's guilt, but he wasn't the one who saw her right before she died. That honor (if it is permissible to call such a terrible thing honor, but what did it matter, Ivan does not believe in virtue) was given to Atticus and perhaps Simon and Aurum, he wasn't sure. His memory was hazy, as if he was desperately trying to discard it in the landfill of his brain.
Ivan knew Atticus was shutting himself out, so a chance to catch him in the open was in his paws now. And so he follows the trail and pawprints all the way up to the edge, tensing as he realizes the direction. Ivan bares his teeth and sinks his claws into the ground, writhing in internal wrath.