-1#8!@&6 HP Absorbed but it didn't work. nope MISS Don't worry about it. FAILURE
Any active connections to the magic around them cut off, the wall and twisting shadows vanishing as if they were never there. There's a beckoning flicker of warmth at the center of their being but he bypasses it, forgoes it ignores it, he said he would not harm them and he won't, though an echo of the memory in the forefront of their mind sears itself into his awareness, and- ...ah.
Past. Cause. Reasoning. They have not seen much kindness. (A start. What else is there to find.)/(He should leave that be. This will be doing enough damage already.)
Settling into another form is strange. Part of him casts out for the knowledge he's seeking, who are they what have they done what do they want how can he deal with it. It doesn't hurt but there's a distinct feeling of disconnect, of hollowness that isn't chased away by something concrete. Pieces are arranged how they should, but the way they come together is wrong. Limbs are too short and it feels like squeezing into a space too small. No room for someone else.
It's stable and it's better than it was before. It's. It is. It's not his. What is he doing?
"...Please," he says, quietly, ignoring the foreign sensation of hearing another's voice coming from a mouth that isn't his and the creeping feeling of how even like this (because of this), everything is wrong, wrong, wrong. There's a brief flare of frustration at the thought, quashed as quickly as he can, but he's angry with himself, with the situation, with the hunger that just won't go away.
He brings their hands to their their chest, over where their sternum would be. "You are all right. You are unhurt. I will release you shortly. I need only a moment."
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Date: 2016-10-24 12:37 am (UTC)Any active connections to the magic around them cut off, the wall and twisting shadows vanishing as if they were never there. There's a beckoning flicker of warmth at the center of their being but he bypasses it, forgoes it ignores it, he said he would not harm them and he won't, though an echo of the memory in the forefront of their mind sears itself into his awareness, and- ...ah.
Past. Cause. Reasoning. They have not seen much kindness. (A start. What else is there to find.)/(He should leave that be. This will be doing enough damage already.)
Settling into another form is strange. Part of him casts out for the knowledge he's seeking, who are they what have they done what do they want
how can he deal with it. It doesn't hurt but there's a distinct feeling of disconnect, of hollowness that isn't chased away by something concrete. Pieces are arranged how they should, but the way they come together is wrong. Limbs are too short and it feels like squeezing into a space too small. No room for someone else.It's stable and it's better than it was before. It's. It is. It's not his. What is he doing?
"...Please," he says, quietly, ignoring the foreign sensation of hearing another's voice coming from a mouth that isn't his and the creeping feeling of how even like this (because of this), everything is wrong, wrong, wrong. There's a brief flare of frustration at the thought, quashed as quickly as he can, but he's angry with himself, with the situation, with the hunger that just won't go away.
He brings their hands to their their chest, over where their sternum would be. "You are all right. You are unhurt. I will release you shortly. I need only a moment."