AESIOR OPHELES
✯ — got spirits in my head and they won't go
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He would come to feel some sort of guilt in later hours for the screaming, the noises he couldn't perfect or pronounce, his severely damaged voice box already causing him so much pain. Perhaps if his head was more clear, he'd feel bad for awakening Arlo and any others who might be near to the vanguard. He could care less what time it was, he just wanted a little bit of silence in his head and the screaming worked in some small way, as if it shocked them that he could make a sound.
Sob wrenching from his throat as his voice shattered and ripped itself further apart, dimly aware of vines wrapping themselves up his forelegs, his tears splashing to the ground below. He felt so hollow and so scared. What was he doing? What was his purpose? He was scared that he was losing himself, that he was lost in some dim passageway of trying to understand himself. The alcohol didn't feel like it was working but he'd drained the bottle nearly to the last drop, a decision he would regret later he was sure.
The presence of Arlo was a surprise to him, he hadn't heard him, though the tear-filled gaze that found the red eyes of the vanguard was without shame or fear. A raspy breath leaving him, sniffling as he tried to quiet his sobs. He felt bad that it was nighttime, but the pain was not something he could deal with, not right now at the very least. He couldn't feel or see the paw but the other was close and the momentary silence of the voices in his head caused him to draw near to the other tom in a fashion of trying to bury his muzzle into his shoulder fur. Should he be unable, the gray tabby would merely shuffle closer to Arlo as he shivered and trembled, paws shaking too bad to pull out his notebook. He needed someone in that moment, someone to ground himself in the present with. The past was a pair of dark jaws waiting to swallow him and the loneliness and loss of physical touch with any was beginning to truly get to him. When had he become so touch-starved?
Sob wrenching from his throat as his voice shattered and ripped itself further apart, dimly aware of vines wrapping themselves up his forelegs, his tears splashing to the ground below. He felt so hollow and so scared. What was he doing? What was his purpose? He was scared that he was losing himself, that he was lost in some dim passageway of trying to understand himself. The alcohol didn't feel like it was working but he'd drained the bottle nearly to the last drop, a decision he would regret later he was sure.
The presence of Arlo was a surprise to him, he hadn't heard him, though the tear-filled gaze that found the red eyes of the vanguard was without shame or fear. A raspy breath leaving him, sniffling as he tried to quiet his sobs. He felt bad that it was nighttime, but the pain was not something he could deal with, not right now at the very least. He couldn't feel or see the paw but the other was close and the momentary silence of the voices in his head caused him to draw near to the other tom in a fashion of trying to bury his muzzle into his shoulder fur. Should he be unable, the gray tabby would merely shuffle closer to Arlo as he shivered and trembled, paws shaking too bad to pull out his notebook. He needed someone in that moment, someone to ground himself in the present with. The past was a pair of dark jaws waiting to swallow him and the loneliness and loss of physical touch with any was beginning to truly get to him. When had he become so touch-starved?
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THE FLOWER BURNS