. forth .
[ Gawain wakes in an unknown house, staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. At first, nothing seems to filter in. Nothing sensible, at least. His last moments are imprinted in his memory. An angel, a dark angel, something of nightmares, a useless gun and blood, God, so much blood. He touches his chest, wincing when a sharper movement seems to pull at his wound but when he brings his fingers in front of his eyes, there is no blood. Nothing.
It’s worse when he realizes that this house is the exact one in which he had died. It becomes painfully certain when he sits up and recognizes small details. The table. The cold tiles on the floor. The screaming woman at the corner is definitely a new one. After a few minutes, she seems to realize that the man - despite how little clothing has survived through the ordeal - is not there to harm her. Even if he could stand.
The doctors at the hospital find no cause for his injuries, not even after noticing the scar crisscrossing his chest like some sort of hideous badge of honor.
He does tell them, in no uncertain terms, that his pain is not a figment of his imagination. ]
My sincerest apologies.
It’s worse when he realizes that this house is the exact one in which he had died. It becomes painfully certain when he sits up and recognizes small details. The table. The cold tiles on the floor. The screaming woman at the corner is definitely a new one. After a few minutes, she seems to realize that the man - despite how little clothing has survived through the ordeal - is not there to harm her. Even if he could stand.
The doctors at the hospital find no cause for his injuries, not even after noticing the scar crisscrossing his chest like some sort of hideous badge of honor.
He does tell them, in no uncertain terms, that his pain is not a figment of his imagination. ]
My sincerest apologies.