Like someone parting a curtain to let in the light, the Fool squints painfully against the sudden intrusion of reality upon his mind. For a moment he looks between Valdis and Devin with the open vulnerability of a wounded deer in his large amber eyes, seeing them but not comprehending why they're here, what has happened. (And it is Devin who he regards the longest, watching him with both relief and pain.) He's gone as pale as one of his complexion can manage; now that Valdis' hand is gone from his shoulder, he trembles from the vividness of what he just relived.
It was only a memory, but it followed him here nevertheless.
He stares beyond Devin's shoulder at the memory projection of his beaten, bloodied body as it succumbs to death against the far wall, and sucks in a sharp breath, a hand flying to his mouth. To experience one's own death is a trauma unique unto itself, but to witness it from this perspective is--
The word, "No," is pulled out of him, half choked, and he starts up to his feet--too quickly, given how he stumbles sideways and has to catch himself against a table. His hands fumble for his cloak, ignoring his absence of shoes; he gives every impression of preparing to leave in a hurry.
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It was only a memory, but it followed him here nevertheless.
He stares beyond Devin's shoulder at the memory projection of his beaten, bloodied body as it succumbs to death against the far wall, and sucks in a sharp breath, a hand flying to his mouth. To experience one's own death is a trauma unique unto itself, but to witness it from this perspective is--
The word, "No," is pulled out of him, half choked, and he starts up to his feet--too quickly, given how he stumbles sideways and has to catch himself against a table. His hands fumble for his cloak, ignoring his absence of shoes; he gives every impression of preparing to leave in a hurry.