[Your pain, his pain-- it's just separate halves of the same whole and for moments that drag he can't discern the difference, agony that rattles along his Spine and shakes through his ribs, the copperhot stink of blood something he knows, utterly. All of this, it doesn't feel so strange. Doesn't feel so different. Horror and torment-- they all bleed into the same old song in the end.
Such that he barely notices when things start to split away, when he stops being the boy with the cobalt eyes and instead there's the nearly-grown man standing before him with that expressionless mask pinned tight as a sheet, all it's unruly corners tucked away (and that, too, is something he knows).
Slowly, as though he's uncertain of the parameters of his own body, unsure if he's really here and if it's really his (is it ever his though? No, it isn't), Giovanni cants his head in a canine gesture of consideration. Curiosity, almost.
His voice comes smooth and flat as a pebble worn down by the crashing of the waves.]
no subject
Such that he barely notices when things start to split away, when he stops being the boy with the cobalt eyes and instead there's the nearly-grown man standing before him with that expressionless mask pinned tight as a sheet, all it's unruly corners tucked away (and that, too, is something he knows).
Slowly, as though he's uncertain of the parameters of his own body, unsure if he's really here and if it's really his (is it ever his though? No, it isn't), Giovanni cants his head in a canine gesture of consideration. Curiosity, almost.
His voice comes smooth and flat as a pebble worn down by the crashing of the waves.]
No. I'm not.