Theories and equations and approximates and predictions Youve got it all up there, havent you?

The words rung around in Wilsons mind fresh still. His ego couldnt resist picking the praise like blackberries off a bush, no matter how much his humility and self-preservation wanted to leave them be. He continued on in darkness, trying not to let the thoughts in his head cloud his vision, what little of it he had. At least somebody gave him some recognition, even if it was the crook that stole him away. Taken from his empty, moldy cabin, the creaky floorboards harboring mushrooms and moss, the damp bedding The quiet loneliness. The smell.

Hm.

He didnt have a very gentlemanly home, did he? And yet this, while yes it was a bit overdone, it was so ornate. Clean. Safe. Even as he wandered through pitch black darkness, there was a distinct lack of paranoia-inducing eyes striking through him. A lack of skittering, crawling, groaning, scraping. Just Wilson, his footsteps, and his thoughts. Perhaps he really was just lost in his own head, or perhaps it was by design. But why would that ever be? As far as he was concerned, he was merely fodder. A voice to steal, another addition to the ghostly choir that followed every sundown.

He really didnt like singing.