That awful dragon thing had gone and taken the Misery out -- not to dinner, Catsovi assumes, and also hopes -- leaving Cat alone, grounded, bewildered, and angry. He'd tried screaming at his khet to return, but if it heard him, it wasn't obeying. Damn it all.
With nothing else to do, Catsovi begins to walk.
He'd shed his coat long ago, as it'd become extra weight. His shirt was white and thin and in certain lighting it was possible to see through it-- to see the dark masses that had started to grow on his skin, oozing their way across his body, the embedded eyes blinking in and out of existence like flashing lights.
He wishes he could shed his crown as easily as his clothes. It's taken to spinning in dizzyingly fast circles about his head, like an annoying fly. He occasionally tries to bat it away but his fingers go straight through the thing. It is this that annoys Catsovi the most and, eventually, its existence consumes his attention entirely.
He goes to his knees and doubles over and grabs his face with both hands. His nails dig into the eye at the center of his forehead, hard enough to draw blood. Trying to cover its line of sight. When this proves ineffective, he lets go of a strangled scream, and slides one hand upwards to cut and claw into his scalp.
Catsovi starts hissing to himself in his mother tongue.
"Don't look at me don't look at me don't look at me don't look at me--"
[09/17 evening, the part where he dies] [closed to Adrasteius]
With nothing else to do, Catsovi begins to walk.
He'd shed his coat long ago, as it'd become extra weight. His shirt was white and thin and in certain lighting it was possible to see through it-- to see the dark masses that had started to grow on his skin, oozing their way across his body, the embedded eyes blinking in and out of existence like flashing lights.
He wishes he could shed his crown as easily as his clothes. It's taken to spinning in dizzyingly fast circles about his head, like an annoying fly. He occasionally tries to bat it away but his fingers go straight through the thing. It is this that annoys Catsovi the most and, eventually, its existence consumes his attention entirely.
He goes to his knees and doubles over and grabs his face with both hands. His nails dig into the eye at the center of his forehead, hard enough to draw blood. Trying to cover its line of sight. When this proves ineffective, he lets go of a strangled scream, and slides one hand upwards to cut and claw into his scalp.
Catsovi starts hissing to himself in his mother tongue.
"Don't look at me don't look at me don't look at me don't look at me--"