This rambling lunatic gradually begins to draw minor perturbation into Soren's placid features the longer he has to listen to him, coupling with annoyance. He wonders why his subconscious has decided to cook this freak up. Of course, some newcomers claim to have met in dreams like this one. This is the first time Soren has had a dream that felt this tangibly like a waking experience. Honestly, he's glad Henry might be a real person trapped in a mutual dream than a product of his subconscious. That would disturb him even more.
Ultimately, Soren loses interest in Henry. "Well, have fun reliving the gruesome spectacles of your past, I suppose. I'll be on my way." Besides, he can feel the other man threatening to infringe upon his boundaries, the way he just barely closes in on his suffering. A crisp gust of wind causes the trees to shiver. He turns to proceed down the leafy path, but stops cold when he sees the back of a cat laguz's head projected from a fan of leaves. A tiny dirt-caked hand flings out to grasp for the tall figure, and the quaking forest is haunted by a child's babbling wails. The scene blurs spasmodically, fading in and out of focus. The cries go disregarded, unheard like they are a figment of the memory holder's imagination alone.
"...!"
An icy stab pierces Soren, the distinction between his recurrent physical pain and the sharp, sudden emotional impact hazy. He clutches his chest as though to refrain from vomiting blood, his ribcage a source of paralyzing turmoil. He's mortified that it can be seen, that the forest knows and wants to remind him of this, of all things this, but he cannot tear his bulging, stricken eyes away from the specter of his past.
no subject
Ultimately, Soren loses interest in Henry. "Well, have fun reliving the gruesome spectacles of your past, I suppose. I'll be on my way." Besides, he can feel the other man threatening to infringe upon his boundaries, the way he just barely closes in on his suffering. A crisp gust of wind causes the trees to shiver. He turns to proceed down the leafy path, but stops cold when he sees the back of a cat laguz's head projected from a fan of leaves. A tiny dirt-caked hand flings out to grasp for the tall figure, and the quaking forest is haunted by a child's babbling wails. The scene blurs spasmodically, fading in and out of focus. The cries go disregarded, unheard like they are a figment of the memory holder's imagination alone.
"...!"
An icy stab pierces Soren, the distinction between his recurrent physical pain and the sharp, sudden emotional impact hazy. He clutches his chest as though to refrain from vomiting blood, his ribcage a source of paralyzing turmoil. He's mortified that it can be seen, that the forest knows and wants to remind him of this, of all things this, but he cannot tear his bulging, stricken eyes away from the specter of his past.