[ closing the rest of the space with some stiff, hulking steps, the click of jayce's intricate left leg brace accompanies him like a shadow. his head hangs a bit in mock dejection, but it's subtle and more reserved than it is an outgoing invitation. jayce was a very warm man for a corpse so cold, fairly playful during his golden days. he feels like an empty shell of that man, sometimes. he tries at times, but it doesn't feel like he could ever be the same person. he doesn't think he wants to, but he doesn't wish to be so frigid all the time. ]
no subject
I didn't get my mother's handiwork for fabrics.
[ he missed his mother. ]