Kratos regained consciousness with a low moan. Everything - particularly his side - ached, and his thoughts were still blurry as he managed to push himself up out of bed, his weak left arm trembling under the weight. The pain was vital, though: it told him that he was still alive, and that last night had not been some kind of terrifying, incredibly realistic dream. As he stared down at his arm and the neat, white bandage wrapped around his hand, he could almost feel the skin beginning to bubble again, distorting, cracking, his fingers fusing together--
Kratos shook his head sharply, trying to snap out of the memory. It was over. He was human. He'd just--he just needed some time. It would all be buried eventually, as everything else had. As he absentmindedly picked at the new bandage, though, a feeling in his gut told him otherwise, and almost without thinking, he lifted the cloth gently with a finger, revealing the crystal underneath.
He grimaced at the sight of the still-healing cuts, the skin cracked and raw around the brilliant blue of his new crystal. There was something strange, though, something that was out of place...Kratos frowned as he pushed more of the bandage aside, exposing more of his hand to the dim light in the room. There, gathering at the edges of the crystal: a green gleam where there ought to be none. His breath caught in his throat as he reached out and felt around the rim of the crystal. Rather than skin, smooth glass met his fingertips--no, crystal. As if it could sense the impending devastation and sought to spare him, his mind went blank as he stared down at his hand, fingers moving back and forth across the small patch of green as he tried to make sense of what had happened and what was happening to him.
"Kurtis? Oh no, what are you doing?" From seemingly nowhere, the nurse rushed over to his side and brushed his hand away before pulling the bandage back over the crystal. "You can't touch that while it's still healing, dear! Now, why don't you get up and have some lunch?" Still in shock, all Kratos could do was numbly follow her, and soon, he found himself sitting in the Sun Room, a bag lunch in front of him, with very little idea of how he'd gotten there.
Think. Move. Do something. Try as he might, though, his whole body seemed to be rebelling while it tried to sort out reality; all he could do was sit and stare at his lunch, the words chronic and crystallization and most importantly dying echoing through his head.
no subject
Kratos shook his head sharply, trying to snap out of the memory. It was over. He was human. He'd just--he just needed some time. It would all be buried eventually, as everything else had. As he absentmindedly picked at the new bandage, though, a feeling in his gut told him otherwise, and almost without thinking, he lifted the cloth gently with a finger, revealing the crystal underneath.
He grimaced at the sight of the still-healing cuts, the skin cracked and raw around the brilliant blue of his new crystal. There was something strange, though, something that was out of place...Kratos frowned as he pushed more of the bandage aside, exposing more of his hand to the dim light in the room. There, gathering at the edges of the crystal: a green gleam where there ought to be none. His breath caught in his throat as he reached out and felt around the rim of the crystal. Rather than skin, smooth glass met his fingertips--no, crystal. As if it could sense the impending devastation and sought to spare him, his mind went blank as he stared down at his hand, fingers moving back and forth across the small patch of green as he tried to make sense of what had happened and what was happening to him.
"Kurtis? Oh no, what are you doing?" From seemingly nowhere, the nurse rushed over to his side and brushed his hand away before pulling the bandage back over the crystal. "You can't touch that while it's still healing, dear! Now, why don't you get up and have some lunch?" Still in shock, all Kratos could do was numbly follow her, and soon, he found himself sitting in the Sun Room, a bag lunch in front of him, with very little idea of how he'd gotten there.
Think. Move. Do something. Try as he might, though, his whole body seemed to be rebelling while it tried to sort out reality; all he could do was sit and stare at his lunch, the words chronic and crystallization and most importantly dying echoing through his head.
[Have fun, Lloyd.]