Dejah's mind is a library, filled with information. Sketches, notes, snippets of sense movies, tomes upon tomes upon tomes, all very carefully organized. Some areas are dustier than others, but still carefully ordered. Still lovingly curated.
Around the edges, there are doors that open into different rooms. Some are expansive vistas; the open desert, alluvial plains, wind-etched canyons, war torn ruins; the depths of the underground seas, the massive pumps both in the process of being constructed and future images of them in motion, bringing water to the surface; the arch of the night sky, celestial bodies in motion; the inside of a great atomic machine, Ninth Ray isolates orbiting each other in a sea of blue light. Some are smaller, more intimate rooms, full of silks and shadows. There's a dojo, with an open space for moving through the 108 sword katas.
And there are darker rooms filled with the scenes of battles, walls spattered with the blue sheen of blood, the air filled with war cries and screams of anguish. There's a tiny room filled with lonely nights listening to a man's breathing grow shallower and weaker.
And there's a whole new wing being constructed. It has an engineering section, a psychology section, a physiology section. And a whole wall filled with sketches. A shaggy jawline. A crooked grin. Shoulders that struggle to be anything but hunched. Busted knuckles. Full soft lips. Eyelashes.
And the very light pencil sketches of a small mountain cabin.
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Around the edges, there are doors that open into different rooms. Some are expansive vistas; the open desert, alluvial plains, wind-etched canyons, war torn ruins; the depths of the underground seas, the massive pumps both in the process of being constructed and future images of them in motion, bringing water to the surface; the arch of the night sky, celestial bodies in motion; the inside of a great atomic machine, Ninth Ray isolates orbiting each other in a sea of blue light. Some are smaller, more intimate rooms, full of silks and shadows. There's a dojo, with an open space for moving through the 108 sword katas.
And there are darker rooms filled with the scenes of battles, walls spattered with the blue sheen of blood, the air filled with war cries and screams of anguish. There's a tiny room filled with lonely nights listening to a man's breathing grow shallower and weaker.
And there's a whole new wing being constructed. It has an engineering section, a psychology section, a physiology section. And a whole wall filled with sketches. A shaggy jawline. A crooked grin. Shoulders that struggle to be anything but hunched. Busted knuckles. Full soft lips. Eyelashes.
And the very light pencil sketches of a small mountain cabin.