[He jostles backwards, pushed until his back is against cold stone. It whips Henry straight out of the jaws of his own anger, freeing him just enough so he can look at Alec, nigh wide-eyed, meeting him with shock and uncertainty — a rare, rare expression from him.
Like this, every word is like a nail that Alec hammers into his mind. His neurons fire furiously, trying to make sense of it. Vecna speaks again, to fill in the spaces between with more cold diffidence, looking to shake them free.]
Where will he go?
[There’s something ticking, ticking, so loud in Henry’s ears. Maybe Alec’s, too.]
No matter the world, he is still just a shattered piece that does not fit with anyone, or anything.
[Among the trunks of every nearby tree, gnarled in the graveyard, grandfather clocks appear. They sound out, twanging loudly as they all strike the hour at once. It’s so, so oppressive. It is not very pleasant being on the other side of this, even if Henry knows the trick. They are not real. Just an illusion. They can't be real. He slams his eyes shut against the sound.]
Seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, decades. You would be marching to death, and still alone, Henry.
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Like this, every word is like a nail that Alec hammers into his mind. His neurons fire furiously, trying to make sense of it. Vecna speaks again, to fill in the spaces between with more cold diffidence, looking to shake them free.]
Where will he go?
[There’s something ticking, ticking, so loud in Henry’s ears. Maybe Alec’s, too.]
No matter the world, he is still just a shattered piece that does not fit with anyone, or anything.
[Among the trunks of every nearby tree, gnarled in the graveyard, grandfather clocks appear. They sound out, twanging loudly as they all strike the hour at once. It’s so, so oppressive. It is not very pleasant being on the other side of this, even if Henry knows the trick. They are not real. Just an illusion. They can't be real. He slams his eyes shut against the sound.]
Seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, decades. You would be marching to death, and still alone, Henry.