honestly? death note’s aesthetic is so good. trains coming and going in the underbelly of shinjuku, crowded colorful streets and drab white offices; devastatingly mundane spaces made ominous: clocks ticking, apples resting in a basket, silver spoons, rain bruising fresh hydrangea blossoms, lightning strikes in the night, fingers on a computer mouse. then there are the false eyelashes and the bobbed wigs and crushed cigarettes and spiked shadows slipping out of sight; leather and lace and plain white cotton sleeves rubbed raw between clever fingers. elsewhere, neatly pressed school uniforms hang in a quiet closet at nightfall; a pen presses against paper and footsteps echo on a tiled floor. empty halls, empty courtyards, tokyo holding its breath.
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