[He thinks himself mad at first. Another incoherent haze brought on by his own desperate thoughts, frail from decay and the weight of hundreds of years too many for a man so undeserving. Blinks against the sting of weary eyes, waiting for it to dissipate the way other dreams has before-- it isn't until Alastair speaks that he realizes he's wrong. That there's weight to the sound of his voice, so sickeningly clear as it catches across stone, stomach wound in starved out knots beneath his chest.
Anger. Outrage. Pain so acute it runs beyond the physical enough to have him scowling, stupidly rising from the floor as his shackles bite into the thin skin of his ankles and wrists, voice cracking like gravel dragged over heavy stone.] You.
O o p s
Anger. Outrage. Pain so acute it runs beyond the physical enough to have him scowling, stupidly rising from the floor as his shackles bite into the thin skin of his ankles and wrists, voice cracking like gravel dragged over heavy stone.] You.