[ he doesn't know how he gets there. doesn't know why he's opening a door instead of — something else, except what else could it be, doors are meant to be opened, after all. and octavian is there; of course he's there, where else should he be? he came here knowing he'd be here, didn't he —
except, no, it's all wrong, like there are vines wrapped around his limbs, squeezing him, trying to drag him down into something dark and unpleasant; he opens his mouth to say no, except the scene around him blurs, there's a weight in his hand and he's feeling nothing but cold, a passenger in this dream... at leas unless octavian's voice speaks close to his ear and the whole scene blurs once more.
only, it's not a better scene that unfolds in front of him, now: he looks from octavian on the stool to the body on the floor and feels utterly sick. ]
Not your fault, [ he manages eventually, voice hoarse. ]
slides here
except, no, it's all wrong, like there are vines wrapped around his limbs, squeezing him, trying to drag him down into something dark and unpleasant; he opens his mouth to say no, except the scene around him blurs, there's a weight in his hand and he's feeling nothing but cold, a passenger in this dream... at leas unless octavian's voice speaks close to his ear and the whole scene blurs once more.
only, it's not a better scene that unfolds in front of him, now: he looks from octavian on the stool to the body on the floor and feels utterly sick. ]
Not your fault, [ he manages eventually, voice hoarse. ]