Sensation Is To Blank As Perception Is To Blank Novels & Stories

She was happy that Steve loved the food. Barbara Gillian tried to help him sit on the wheelchair, she bent down to help find his footwear. Steve placed one leg on the ground and then the other but something interesting happened, he could feel his legs. “The effect of this merging with my mate is suppose to wear off by now”, he thought. He picked a needle close to him and pricked himself to be sure he was not dreaming. “aaaah”, He screamed. Barbara looked up, she was about to massage his legs before fixing him In the wheelchair “Why are you hurting yourself?”, she quickly took the needle from him.

Genuinely focused, in the way of someone who has encountered something unprecedented and has decided to treat it as interesting rather than frightening. She walked him through it. The moonlight first, then the mark, then the twins responding — not sequentially but simultaneously, all three things arriving at once as if they were aspects of the same event. The nature of the sensation: not pain, something more electrical, the quality of a tuning fork rather than a wound. The light from the mark amplifying, the twins pressing outward in both directions at once.

Suzanne appear from nowhere and Esme together with Darcie was shocked "Can't believe my own sister choose his lover over me" she says "How did...did...did you get in?? Esme asked but Suzanne ignored her "Suzanne pls" "Now I can see you love him more than your own very sister, you're such an ungrateful brat Sonia" She yelled and Darcie couldn't hold back her tears " Suzanne,have you forgotten that before seeking revenge, first dig two graves.” When you seek vengeance, you hurt yourself as well, if not more. You are not going to feel good about hurting someone regardless if it is warranted or not. Your anger toward our step father or our mother will only increase if you preoccupy yourself with

I let out. "What exactly can you sense?" He asked further. "Blind people can't see. They are keener to rely on smell, and most especially feel things to know where they are, like the smell of wet sand after it rains. The sound of objects leads me faster to them. Through imagination, most things are possible." I let out. "The brain of a blind person makes a connection in the absence of visual information which gives a heightened sense of hearing, touch, and smell," I further explained. The silence that fell between us showed that he wasn't satisfied with my answers.

she rasped at him. I rose to my full height with my sword in hand. “How can it be fought?” Kaden asked in a growl. “We can’t,” I said The light from her hand was still growing, there was a sound that reminded me of the buzzing in your hear after you hear a sound that is too loud for too long, like tinnitus—only the sound was constantly rising in pitch, like a teakettle, only higher. The light kept growing still, painting the whole room in white. Such a light should have blinded us, but it didn’t, and in a flash of insight I realised that neither the light, nor the sound were perceived with our actual senses. Our eyes didn’t see white, our brain did.

Like the difference between a photograph of something and the thing itself. I feel them before they're in the room. The awareness, the frequency, the way my nervous system registers their presence, the way it registers temperature or sound. I can feel when Sebastian is tense from down the hall. Not his thoughts, nothing that precise, just the emotional weather of him, arriving at me like a change in air pressure. I can feel when Silas is in one of his deep silences, not the surface silences, the ones underneath, the ones where he's working through something that costs him.

‎ ‎Only this. ‎ ‎The ordinary sensation of clothing against skin is this. ‎ ‎The weight of the body in the chair is this. ‎ ‎The temperature of the air is this. ‎ ‎The subtle pulse in the wrist is this. ‎ ‎No sensation apart from sensing. ‎ ‎No body apart from bodying. ‎ ‎Only this. ‎ ‎The ordinary thought drifting through is this. ‎ ‎The memory of breakfast is this. ‎ ‎The anticipation of lunch is this. ‎ ‎The random image flashing is this.

The worst kind of submission. The voluntary kind. “Did you feel him,” Valerius continued, voice lower now, “or did you experience him?” Cassian inhaled slowly through his nose. “The difference?” Valerius glanced at him now. “Feeling implies proximity,” he said. “Experience implies penetration.”