Made up, Martin was sure. The second sound was too soft to hear over the drumming in his ears and in his head. It was uncomfortable to stay curled up so, and in moving and looking about, he found his hallucination had a body.

He startled with a sharp sound, back pressing up against the wall and eyes rushing across the scene wildly to find a focal point. The hand, ultimately, being so close. He gawked at it, eyes saucer-wide and terrified. In terror, anger coursed along, waiting for the excuse to lash out again. In anger, guilt followed, heavy and choking and nagging about things he could barely remember.

Anora?

No. A loud sniff, receiving nothing, and in nothing, actually something. He looked past the hand.

"Mharyin," he uttered; sounds had come out all wrong behind the teeth and thickened tongue.