[It takes Koby a little while, the perpetual migraine grown into something else, something like a throbbing, aching weight in his temples, his chest, everywhere he's used to feeling the easy, effortless flow of magic. Like it's blocked, like he's being walled off from it.
He ignores it, lets his feet fall noisily enough on the chapel floor to announce his presence. Hands in his pockets, he looks up at the window, the cross, the altar for a long, long moment.]
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He ignores it, lets his feet fall noisily enough on the chapel floor to announce his presence. Hands in his pockets, he looks up at the window, the cross, the altar for a long, long moment.]
...you're right. It feels different now.