This, too, is distressingly familiar. Gwenaëlle’s panicked hand clawing at her spine searching for the mortal wound, remembering her own death, re-living it. Stephen’s own mind afire with his own death, I’m sorry on a whisper and that wave of force colliding with another him, slowly peeling his body apart. He had watched the execution happen from outside himself, seen from a professor’s steady remorseful gaze.
This particular memory is more visceral, bone-deep; when he looks down at his chest he half-expects to see the blade still extruding. A gasp, a startled breath, his hand splayed on the table. Strange is rattled, but not as much if he hadn’t already witnessed his own death. When he looks at Ennaris, however, his gaze is soft and apologetic.
He doesn’t really have the words. Doesn’t know the right thing to say. So what comes out instead, lodged on the sight of those tentacles, that pitiless inhuman face pressing the tadpole to an eye: ]
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This, too, is distressingly familiar. Gwenaëlle’s panicked hand clawing at her spine searching for the mortal wound, remembering her own death, re-living it. Stephen’s own mind afire with his own death, I’m sorry on a whisper and that wave of force colliding with another him, slowly peeling his body apart. He had watched the execution happen from outside himself, seen from a professor’s steady remorseful gaze.
This particular memory is more visceral, bone-deep; when he looks down at his chest he half-expects to see the blade still extruding. A gasp, a startled breath, his hand splayed on the table. Strange is rattled, but not as much if he hadn’t already witnessed his own death. When he looks at Ennaris, however, his gaze is soft and apologetic.
He doesn’t really have the words. Doesn’t know the right thing to say. So what comes out instead, lodged on the sight of those tentacles, that pitiless inhuman face pressing the tadpole to an eye: ]
What are they?