Crimson blood trickles out of your mouth like saliva from a numbed lip. A warm hand on your back, a calloused feeling all to familiar. Comforting as it should be.

Coughing and sputtering, you choke on what can only be assumed to be your own, bodily fluids. And it only serves to gag you further. You feel young, you feel sick.

“Just breathe, Kiddo. You’ll be alright.” A kind voice. One that beckons you to listen. Brimstone. Despite all, you find succor.