He feels alone.

It's a strange, sad sort of feeling. He supposes it is natural, however, to feel this way when he has been here for so long and yet does not have the sort of closeness that many of the other creatures he's seen do. He watches them, sometimes, from his window, or from his spot on the steps of the dormitory building. They pass by, laughing and talking, sometimes touching a shoulder, sometimes brushing hands, sometimes not touching at all, but walking side by side, simply comfortable in sharing each other's spaces without actually invading them.

Llyr has people to share with, he knows, or at least, he thinks he knows. Sweet Marzena with her refusal to smile, but with a heart he knows is kind enough to try and protect him while they had been taken by the creature in that hellish place (the place he tries not to think about and will henceforth be referred to as The Place inside of his head). Enthusiastic Erebus, with his playful puppy side. His handler, Jove, a silent yet affectionate boil, and who takes Llyr out when he needed. And of course, Pachua, with his easy smiles and his pretty plumage and his warmth.

Except he doesn't have them, not really. Not any of them, maybe not even himself (what a confusing conundrum, he thinks vaguely).

It is not quite the same, Llyr knows, because if it was, he'd be with one of them right now instead of sitting here by himself. He has learned, slowly, how to use a skellyphone (thanks to the help of a fluttering aid in the school's main office who was "only too pleased to show the pretty boil how to type"), and wants to text people, but that seems rather cold and distant. He likes being around people, likes being surrounded by their unobtrusive conversations and their silly, everyday actions, the casual way in which they go about their days.

He is alone. He is alone and he is drifting away in an ocean he can't quite control.

(When in doubt, the answer is always to relate things to water, as that is where he feels the most comfortable, the safest.)

He wonders, as he sits on the window seat in his second story dormitory, staring down at the people who pass by, if he'll ever be a part of them, or if he'll just be an observer, as usual. Llyr likes to be wrapped within the warmth of smiles and laughter, but it always seems like that smile and laughter is meant for elsewhere and he is just drifting pass.

Perhaps it's because of the lock on his chest; the heavy chains that slink over his shoulders and wrap twice about his torso. Sometimes, if he looks at it too much or he touches it too much, it's almost as though he can feel something cold curling out of the icy metal, something nearly tangible. It worries him, but he doesn't let that worry out. He does not want others to see that he is incapable, after all.

He knows he is not that intelligent; that he often needs more instruction than most, but his brain feels sluggish and confusing most of the time, and he has yet to figure out a way to clear the fog from it. Perhaps one day, when he is more settled into his own skin, he will be able to figure out what it is that he wants and what it is that he needs.

But as of right now, at least, he will sit and he will watch from a distance and he will wonder.