It hurts.

Like his heart is being ripped open with every inhale.

He feels delirious, faint, the wooziness of someone bleeding out to death relapsing in his airway.

His eyes are blown wide as his gloved fingers dig into the wood of his desk, and suddenly Dragonspine is unfathomably cold to him.

He reaches two fingers up to touch his right cheek, and he feels dampness against his artificial skin.

He’s crying.

The Kreideprinz is crying.

The shadows retract against the surface of the snow, cruelly reminiscent of your footprints in the snow.

Archons, what’s happening to him?

it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts—archons it hurts

The scent of your perfume snaps him out of his daze.

“Get away from me!” Albedo screams, staggering away from the table and away from you.

it hurts.