Feb 18
There was not enough air in his lungs for a proper breath, much less the energy to form a proper sentence. Adrenaline was keeping him upright, but not for much longer; his weight against the fence was a luxury, and largely unnoticed. Dark eyes stared blankly at the ground, waiting for pain to finally register, as well as the last 24 hours.
There against the fence, he tried to retrace his steps. He had fallen asleep against a brick wall in a decrepit house in New Orleans. Untethered sleep was a guarantee to sleepwalk. That's right. The Atrocities Realm. Something shitty had happened, that much was fucking obvious. Either he had been spat out of the Umbra or had crawled his way out.
The blood in his spit came as no surprise.
@coinquinatvs
