“No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases it may be the desire for somebody of something specific, nostalgia, love-sickness. At the lowest level it grades into ennui, boredom.”
― Vladimir Nabokov
The jostling of the wagon lulled Muil into a drowsy state. She had not slept in sometime. A few days? A few weeks? She did not know. She was still paranoid about the newcomers that she had stumbled onto. Even in the… was it a month, that had past she still did not exactly trust them. But, Meluiwen trusted them short after they spent the night with them and had declared them ‘Fwends’ shortly after once she overheard them talking about their home and getting rid of the darkness. (Muluiwen didn’t go into detail as she ‘pwomised-ed’ and Muil respected that).
kjhglsajfdghadljaskgdhfak
awww Muil 😥
Laindawar, omg welp, you TRIED, kiddo. though you have the sensitivity and finesse of a shovel
laksjdgfljahsdgkahgkahgfkahsgdfkahg!!!!! THANK YOU, EEEE THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!
Aw Yiss 