[ He'd thought the first time was a fluke, but Vergilius was such a deliberate man, and Silco knew that as well. He'd made up that it was a fluke, and maybe it was so that he didn't have to consider what it meant, and maybe it was another reason, and his mind wound around that like a question, over and over again, like that same puzzle he couldn't exactly figure out where all the pieces went.
No, it wasn't a fluke, was it?
This was a second? Third time? The whole... of everything was such a haze of blood and pain and everything else that he almost couldn't remember one moment from the next. It had been good, finding weak spots and pulling violence out of him, just like now, it felt like he was trying to drown in a sea of blood, looking for the vortex of violence in the middle. Like he could drag it out from the depths, and make sense of it in the light.
But can he, when he keeps throwing these changes into the mix? He doesn't know whether to be angry, or... or...
He realized only belatedly that he'd forgotten to breathe, and he'd done it without even squeezing his hands around his throat again. His fingers had stilled, and gone slack, still pressed to his wounds. He remembered to breathe, the sound too-loud in his ears.
He swallowed, the motion of it moved against his lips. ]
By?
[ He almost doesn't ask it, but he can't help but question it. He can't move his head much, held down like that, but his fingers seek out his free hand, fishing for it, to grasp it with long, thin fingers. ]
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No, it wasn't a fluke, was it?
This was a second? Third time? The whole... of everything was such a haze of blood and pain and everything else that he almost couldn't remember one moment from the next. It had been good, finding weak spots and pulling violence out of him, just like now, it felt like he was trying to drown in a sea of blood, looking for the vortex of violence in the middle. Like he could drag it out from the depths, and make sense of it in the light.
But can he, when he keeps throwing these changes into the mix? He doesn't know whether to be angry, or... or...
He realized only belatedly that he'd forgotten to breathe, and he'd done it without even squeezing his hands around his throat again. His fingers had stilled, and gone slack, still pressed to his wounds. He remembered to breathe, the sound too-loud in his ears.
He swallowed, the motion of it moved against his lips. ]
By?
[ He almost doesn't ask it, but he can't help but question it. He can't move his head much, held down like that, but his fingers seek out his free hand, fishing for it, to grasp it with long, thin fingers. ]