The words make his eyes fall closed, and he swallows, his mouth dry. He nods tersely, and clenches his jaw. Why is he so thirsty all of a sudden? This is stupid.


There is nothing left to say. No gambit left to play.


Right now he wishes nothing more than to get drunk, to be without senses for a span of time. (A span of heartbeats.) He doesn't want to leave it like this. It's frustrating beyond measure, and hopeless.

He lays down his king.


He keeps the form of a man as he scales down the ladders, tracing back the way he came, keeping the sound of his heartbeat in his ears for as long as he can.


Beneath his skin, the hunger seethes.