One day, you find yourself waking up thoroughly sore, scraping yourself off the floor of a Monastery classroom. As you strain to remember how you wound up there, you catch sight of your hand β except itβs not yours. Nor are the clothes you now wear, or the body beneath them. Your actual self is standing opposite you, staring back in shock andβ¦ covered in dust? [...]Β [Grants Any Weapon +1]
There is a sound like someone being strangled, their body's desperate cry for air, and all Thrasir can think is how greatly she would appreciate if they would just save themself the trouble and asphyxiate already.
Only when she opens her eyes, finally irritated enough to consider lending a hand towards expediting that process, she finds herself blinking back at... herself.
It comes like a wave, then, the flood of sensation -- the feeling of the old classroom's cold stone floor, of cloth against her skin, the agonizing pain in her chest.
She is the one struggling without air.
Fingers wind thoughtlessly around her throat, trying to find the muscle memory that she has gone so long without needing. This pathetic flesh body won't last if she doesn't, she knows, and it's not like she cares, really.
But she is in it, and for all of the ways to go, this is not exactly among her favorites.
With an ugly croaking noise, air begins to trickle its way back into her lungs. It's such a foreign feeling that she thinks she may just be grateful for her lack of a need for it. Breaths come shallow and ragged, but they come at all, and so that is enough to allow her attention to refocus on, well, herself.
It's easy enough to figure what happened, logistics aside. Shattered glass lays between them, some obnoxiously vibrant liquid speckling the floor. She can see how it soaks the bandages that are wound around her body, and with some moderate amount of alarm, realizes that she can feel where it has done the same to those of this stranger's.
She frowns, making something of a shaky attempt to rise up from the ground. "Do not bother feeling for a pulse," her voice is so foreign, far too deep to even remotely consider her own, "you will not find one."