"Oh God! Oh God!
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable
Seem to me all the uses of this world!"
Shakespeare had written centuries ago what Falcon was feeling right now. Existence didn't seem to have any point anymore.
He had come so far.
Only to let Cyan slip through his hands again.
He had no time to bask in the utter despair that had gripped him as the ground beneath his feet gave way and he fell right in. Ignis was back at her petty pranks.
The ground had become a sort of slide, and Falcon slipped right through in utter blackness. Darkness clawed at his throat, veiled his eyes, and made him feel as insignificant as an ant in a cave. He flapped his arms around desperately to touch any part of Aurelia, to know she was still there...but his hands clasped around thin air.
