Jon listens, intent and calculated, as Phil's story unfolds and the spiral of the repeats unspoken wind deeper and deeper. There's a different feeling and a deeper, more visceral fear to feed on that comes from Phil not only knowing these words by the Archivist's influence, but by his own memory.
February the 2nd burns in the man's mind with the pronounced scars of a branding iron, even from merely delving into the first day of it - it barely takes any pull to stoke the flames and cause it to awaken one more. One day's worth of horror pours forth days, weeks, perhaps months worth of endless winding torment of a day truly never gone past.
The silence is only broken when Phil trails off, but Jon doesn't leap to it, despite looking clearly hooked by every word he says. He folds his hands on the table, neatly, and Compels, tugging ever-so-softly for the information to pour fourth.
"One day gone, but never truly. And what does your next February the 2nd hold?"
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February the 2nd burns in the man's mind with the pronounced scars of a branding iron, even from merely delving into the first day of it - it barely takes any pull to stoke the flames and cause it to awaken one more. One day's worth of horror pours forth days, weeks, perhaps months worth of endless winding torment of a day truly never gone past.
The silence is only broken when Phil trails off, but Jon doesn't leap to it, despite looking clearly hooked by every word he says. He folds his hands on the table, neatly, and Compels, tugging ever-so-softly for the information to pour fourth.
"One day gone, but never truly. And what does your next February the 2nd hold?"