The room was dim, only the small piece of glass above the door let in any light from the hallway beyond. The wide open window led out to the pitch black darkness of the witching hour, a cool breeze creeping through the gap. The chill touched the side of Wodan’s face bringing out a wave of goose pimples across his cheek and neck. He reached up with his free hand, the sound of moving water echoed around the empty room.
The warmth from the bath water soothed the pimples on his neck for a time, before the water too became cold. Sighing Wodan’s hand dipped down under the water again, content to let the chill eat at his neck. His eyes were open and red, tired and strained as they looked up at the oak ceiling beams. Even in the dim light, his animalistic eyes adapted allowing him to easily make out the grain of the wood above him. Sleep rarely came to the Sith of late, haunted by visions of things from long ago, visions he had no right to see let alone understand their meaning and wisdom.
His right hand clutched as the shard which dangled from his neck, even in the warmth of the bath it still felt cold to touch. The sharp edges of the broken metal had cut into his hand time after time, to the point his palm was now a crisscross of silver scars, hastily mended by his quick healing. The scar tissue over time had become coarse and tough, the cold metal barely scratched its surface anymore.
Another night of restless sleep had summoned him to the bath, hoping the heat of the water would help relax the Firrerrian enough to slumber. But alas the bath was cooling and he was no closer to sleep than when he turned on the taps.
Letting out a breath, Wodan slipped down the bath, the chilled neck slowly becoming submerged by the warm water. Then his chin, his mouth, his nose, his eyes as he disappeared under the water's surface…
The warmth from the bath water soothed the pimples on his neck for a time, before the water too became cold. Sighing Wodan’s hand dipped down under the water again, content to let the chill eat at his neck. His eyes were open and red, tired and strained as they looked up at the oak ceiling beams. Even in the dim light, his animalistic eyes adapted allowing him to easily make out the grain of the wood above him. Sleep rarely came to the Sith of late, haunted by visions of things from long ago, visions he had no right to see let alone understand their meaning and wisdom.
His right hand clutched as the shard which dangled from his neck, even in the warmth of the bath it still felt cold to touch. The sharp edges of the broken metal had cut into his hand time after time, to the point his palm was now a crisscross of silver scars, hastily mended by his quick healing. The scar tissue over time had become coarse and tough, the cold metal barely scratched its surface anymore.
Another night of restless sleep had summoned him to the bath, hoping the heat of the water would help relax the Firrerrian enough to slumber. But alas the bath was cooling and he was no closer to sleep than when he turned on the taps.
Letting out a breath, Wodan slipped down the bath, the chilled neck slowly becoming submerged by the warm water. Then his chin, his mouth, his nose, his eyes as he disappeared under the water's surface…