There are thoughts rummaging through his mind, a riptide of never-ending currents all colliding together in a hellish unison; he's fallen victim to his own being. Nothing quite makes sense, where he is now, where he was before - and as he draws a breath past his lips he isn't sure why he's doing it; questioning everything from why he is even breathing to the wind brushing lightly through his hair. It's all so unfamiliar, foreign; yet for some reason, it's distinctive. It's as if he's trying to recall something from his past; a memory that's been tarnished, diluted throughout the years and is no longer there - no longer viable, yet still true. Life in itself; it's leaving him dazzled, encased within a state of confusion; like he's trapped inside the heart of a tornado, the wind whirling around him resembling the manic questions that pry through his brain - pricking at each corner, desperate for some answers. Who is he? Where did he come from? Why is he here? There's no explanation; there's no rhyme or reason behind why the previous words left his lips and registered in his soul as the only thing that made sense. Hyuna, Lucien, it's all he knows - and it's all so crippling, each question going unanswered, mounting atop one another and plummeting down on him. He was here; he had the instinct to serve and protect - but the second that vanished it's as if the world stopped on it's axel; closing in on him - leaving him breathless, empty.
For a fleeting moment he'd nearly forgotten the girl before him, the only person who could provide some answers; and he's tentative as he returns his gaze to meet hers - his composure a dead giveaway that something had gone astray. The former confident persona dropping almost as soon as he was offered a singular moment to capture his thoughts and piece together everything surrounding him; and honestly? It's all too much to take in at once. And he's grateful when the clutch is removed from his grasp, quickly retreating his arms to his sides and snaking his hands into the pockets of his hoodie; an article of clothing that rises more questions that rack throughout his brain; where had it come from? He can feel his skin begin to crawl with the uncertainty that's poisoning his veins; causing him to link his hands together within the front-pocket of his sweat shirt, an attempt to disguise the way they'd been trembling since the retrieved item had been taken from their hold. He feels weak, like prey caught under the grasp of it's predator and he isn't sure what that predator is; but something isn't right - and it's him; his whole existence. The moment the light had enclosed on him, he'd been struck with such a nauseous, terrifying ache that's twisting his stomach into a dozen knots; he needs answers, something, anything. An escape.
Just when he builds up the courage to open his mouth and begin speaking, to voice his concerns; perhaps seek some answers from the only person that brings some sort of familiarity within his mind; she beats him to it. And the first thing he notices is the angelic pronunciation in her words; the type of voice that you'd want to play on repeat, a timeless way of speaking that one could describe as flawless; perhaps even beautiful - even while the anger pitched behind her tone is most certainly directed at him. How could he blame her? Hell, he wasn't even aware of the statement that left his lips until it had, his brain only last second placing together a couple pieces of a much larger puzzle and despite it all not making much sense (perhaps none at all); he remains sure of two things. Lucien is like kin, and Hyuna is who he was sent to protect. The realization alone almost makes him feel dirty; nothing but a pawn, a tool. He's aware of so much yet knows so little about himself; he could recite the alphabet, discuss music genre's from centuries ago - but when it comes to who he is, where he came from, his thoughts flat-line, dust. And hearing her words; accusations hidden within each syllable, he can't help but to shake his head, the trembling from his hands seemingly having spread throughout his whole body and fuck - it's a miracle he's still balanced on two feet.
"I don't know -" He finally manages to say, his words piercing through his own eardrums and it's almost as if he's hearing his own voice for the first time; a sound that makes him want to cry out and scream, desperate for comfort. He's shaking, losing control of his own body as his brain scatters, seeking out whatever composure that would possibly keep him from coming undone. Pieced together by thin thread; one by one each strand breaking within him, he can feel himself weakening; a hurricane of emotions packed together, plowing over him at once and he's succumbing to it all. "Lucien, Lucien sent me. I-" His voice fails him, giving out mid-sentence with a sharp crack between the words, and he curses himself internally for displaying such weakness in front of someone who should be considered a stranger. Should be. But she isn't, is she? That fact alone is killing him; sending him to war with himself, swallowing each bullet as his eyes fall from her gaze, he shouldn't recognize her - he shouldn't recognize any of this when he can't recall his own family; no memories, no birthdays, no whimsical moments with past friends. None of it is registering and the way she speaks only makes one thing absolutely certain; she's just as unsure as he is. Answers? He isn't going to find them here.
Despite his search coming up empty; the girl before him raging on and only adding to the conflicted mess that's wearing at his flesh, he can't will his feet to move - he's incapable of walking away from her. Uriah doesn't understand it, while it's already become all too clear that she will not be able to provide him with any valuable input; he's unable to leave her presence. She's all he knows; and for that reason alone, it's enough to keep him in place. It's enough to leave him crumbling; his legs giving out on him as he drops to his knees, the rest of the world vanishing around him and leaving him to suffocate within his won vision of black; he's alone. Or so he thinks; it's just her, it's just him - everything else has been muted; the only sound he's capable of hearing are the voices in his head; his own? Someone else's? He isn't even sure. It's a destructive breakdown and a part of him almost feels sorry that she's the one that has to be there to witness it; all the while, she's the only person he wants to lean into for comfort - it's all such a twisted reality. "I'm Uriah... I think, I think I'm dead?" His words aren't necessarily directed at her, he's not speaking for her own aid, no interest to fill the own gaps in the plot line that she may be pondering; he's speaking for himself. The thoughts slipping through his mind and past his own lips; leaving him on the ground, muttering words and sentences that don't make much sense but are enough for him to keep going; there's something there, he's sure of it.
His tone drops significantly as he goes to speak again, his voice barely above a whisper and there's tears threatening to spill in his eyes; burning at his pupils as his vision goes entirely hazy due to the water piling at the surface. "I -- I don't know anything." It's pathetic, it's making him feel so insignificant; alienated. There's no reason he should be feeling such a strong urge to collapse, the wave of conflicted feelings and emotions combining with the multitude of thoughts jarring in his brain; it's a cocktail for disaster and perhaps that's what makes the most sense out of everything. Disaster; destruction. All the confusion is leading him to that one conclusion; he's a monster. "Hy-Hyuna" He's stuttering through his speech and it's then that a single tear falls from his right-eye; opening the flood gates, allowing the storm to pass through which unlocks the disgusting sob that escapes his lips. He inhales sharply, eyebrows furrowing, trying to stifle the tears but it's useless; he's too far gone, too broken up, torn into pieces. Speaking through the disgusting flood of tears is nearly impossible, and he's more focused on trying to catch his breath despite the low whimpering that trembles along his lips; pathetic, truly. And had he been someone else, looking in on the scene, able to pass judgment upon himself for his sudden weak demeanor; he'd certainly feel no pity. He knows he's cruel; that there's undying hatred flowing through his veins and a darkness capturing each thought, manipulating them into something demonic; but he's not sure why; why he's this way; why he's anything at all.
And it's only then, as he moves his hands from their confinement within his sweater to wipe at the tears staining his cheeks, he looks up at her. Feeling drained, feeling small; minuscule, his voice is barely what it was before - there's an emptiness within it, a longing need for something, anything.
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