Slow Recovery ..:.. [ SOLO 13 ]
Over the next while... the next
long while... the door of Glaucon's apartment remained firmly shut against the outside world. His servants and messenger occasionally left and returned, bearing books and supplies and news.
The sky was restored, and a great celebration commemorated its return.
The Twin Crown, exhausted from this task, fell to slumber. In his place, rulership was to manifest as a council -- his comrade, Glyph, among the named.
He was grateful to hear these things, indeed. For these undoubtedly historic occasions, the god of Judgment considered the notion of opening the door, stepping outside... but he wouldn't have it. He was not ready. An appearance would have been too stressful, too
shameful. So he busied himself indoors, with the things he had the ever-so-slowly-growing capacity to do. The writings of old philosophers were his entertainment and conversational companions, as his hands re-learned the nuance of turning pages, and his voice remembered how to shape itself into words.
It was pitiful. He had never felt so powerless, even as a gem. The presence of his host was still around him, but only in such a way that it served as a reminder of his faults and misgivings most of the time. And yet, at the same time, Glaucon sorely missed the mental banter. He could have used the company.
But he could fill in the blanks well enough himself:
Wow, man, you're way worse at this s**t than I ever was.Are we ever gonna head back outside? You're kind of being a bit of a b***h about this whole thing -- you know that, right?Hey, how about we go read something NOT boring? This guy's been saying the same thing, a hundred different ways, a thousand different ********' times.It was strange motivation, to say the least. But anything to push him through this recovery, which felt frustrating and hopeless in ways that even combatting the apocalypse hadn't. And he knew exactly why that was: it was an endless grind, with progress small and barely visible. After a while, though, he began to see a difference. Closing his thumb and forefinger around the corner of a page became a subconscious action again. He began to allow himself a more liberal choice of words, until he finally sounded like himself when he spoke. It was no rushed conversion of a foreign city, nor was it a sunrise after years without one. But it was something he could be
satisfied with, if not quite
proud.
The walls around him began to look smaller and smaller with each passing day. The restlessness was a welcome feeling. It meant he was almost ready. He could stand up and walk, with something approaching the endurance David had possessed. It was hardly ideal, but it was a start. And it would get better over time.
There was still plenty of progress to be made, before Glaucon felt whole in the body he'd been reborn into. But for now, it would be enough.
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