✗ : blood & guts { event closed. }
In sleep came nightmares--- and within the terrible dreams.. was truth.
Griffith found himself in a cold, dark room, damp stone floor beneath him. Physically, he felt drained of strength, filth ridden both in and out. It seemed far too real to be a mere nightmare, far too drawn-out to occur within a few seconds of a single night. There was pain all over his skin -- patches that were burned, others that felt as though they'd been scraped raw.
He did not try to move. He did not know if he even could, yet before Griffith could even make an attempt at pushing himself up, he heard steps approaching. Bare feet hit the cobblestones, a repulsive noise, yet the words that came after were even worse---
"Let me cut that cute face open.. and see those pink muscles.."
It was then that Griffith was jolted into consciousness.
Sun filtered through the windows, the gentle noise of birds outside seemingly soothing... yet it only took a single glance for him to realize that this was not his home. This was not the city, where the familiar noise of passing traffic whispered from outside. What struck Griffith the most, however, was the pain. Immediately, he pushed himself up, shuddering instinctively as that burning sensation returned, most prominent upon his back. He had been branded, yet he so far was unaware of it, only knowing that it hurt like nothing else before had---
a whimper passed from his lips, brows furrowing... but as the noise escaped him, Griffith paled. There was something else wrong. Something terrible. Disregarding the pain, he forced himself to stand, staggering forward. One hand pressed against the wall as he leaned there, the other reaching to his mouth.. and although he could feel it well enough for himself, he insisted upon reaching a finger into his mouth, feeling desperately for proof that he was wrong.
His tongue had been cut off.
For a moment, upon realizing the horrific truth, he nearly gagged, hand clasping firmly over his mouth. He had to get out. He had to see that it was still very much a nightmare, he had to know that this wasn't reality. Thoughts muddled by confusion and fear, Griffith tore out of the small house, sleepwear still on. Paralia-- the sight of it all would have provided a sense of relief, enforcing the idea that it truly was only a dream.. had it not felt so incredibly real. Hand still pressed against his mouth, the young man staggered forward, panicked as he searched for solace of some kind. Yet he found none.
Momentarily, his knees gave way beneath him, white-haired youth slipping to the grass-covered ground. Hands leaning upon his thighs, he bowed his head, attempting to calm his breath. Griffith had always been adept at finding his way around difficult situations, smoothly maneuvering such complications to his advantage -- yet never before had he been faced with such a catastrophe. It was the noise of a bystander that caught his attention, however, causing the young man to glance up-- only to feel the shuddering chill of dread.
Guts. Of all the people that he could have run into.
Dream or not, Griffith immediately pushed himself up, adamant on escaping the other before he could be seen. He could not face his friend. Not like this, not at such a point.
He couldn't let his weakness become a reality.
