&& bane is so cold that it BURNS. its tongue,                however forked, misses not an inch, THUMP,                THUMP, THUMPING and THROB, THROB,                THROBBING in his throat, waging a war on                the calm he had worked so hard to craft.                everything is too LOUD. his pulse, the lights,                the gaudy red lipstick She's wearing ———                                                           ' STOP! '