C8 A talk with Xavier

The graphite of my pencil danced across the pages of my textbook in a ritual as familiar and tedious as the waxing and waning of the moon. I was scribbling the last sentences when the weight of my eyelids betrayed me, and I surrendered to the whispers of sleep.

There's no telling how long the darkness cradled me, but the moon had climbed significantly by the time my senses stirred again