WHISPERS HAUNT HIM IN HIS DREAMS, grasping sorrow and vice in a chokehold (crushing, CRUSHING, CRUSHING SELF-WORTH) until grounded to a powder, breath goes HAYWIRE, cold sweat trickling--blood, blood on his hands, blood in his THROAT, pouring from his tear ducts until MALAISE is all he knows!! Virulence burns like conflagration gone wrong, tip-toeing down midnight corridors, CLAIR DE LUNE his sole companion through sleepless WANDERLUST. Night terrors have been commonplace nowadays: FEAR-CLENCHING soul-crushing maladies that follow him even to the waking world (it’s always someone dying: Ryouma decapitated, Hinoka falling like a METEOROID, Sakura torn to shreds, his mother...) whispering doomsday, threatening his sanity.
FOOTSTEPS COME TO A SUDDEN HALT, head turning to an e’er familiar TUNE rumored to ghost the halls; he heard RUMORS among servants of a mysterious voice thought to be his progenitors forgotten in the years. He shouldn’t be afraid, he shouldn’t be afraid, he JUMPS and timberwolf locks fly, heart-stopping YELP held in the back of his tongue