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#angst #blood #so much hurt oml

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...he's bolting up in bed, gripping at his chest, where his heart is rapidly thumping at his ribcage. Hears himself trying to pull back as much oxygen into his lungs, eyes wide, trying to level with his breathing. Telling himself it was only a nightmare.

Fuzzbuckets, another fucking nightmare.

It was so vivid this time. Not like it wasn't for the other many restless nights. But at least he has better control over his breathing now. His hands moves back to the bed to hold him up, he exhales again, closing his eyes with it then opening them again.

It was purely gruesome, but he can barely remember as to what it consisted of this time. Just the knowledge that it involved so much blood. He shakes his head to rid the thoughts. Some nights, he's terrified to rest his head. Terrified to find what lives within his own mind to haunt him depriving him of sleep. And the warmth of the bed and the lull of resting only feels like a trap waiting to attack. And it has.

A gust of harsh cold wind bites at his pale skin.

He's looking off the side to his bedside table, then up at the slightly ajar window. The curtains flowing softly as it showed the outside of his apartment. The wind hits him again and he involuntarily shivers. Hands rubbing at his arms and he shuffles out of bed slowly. He moves thin white cloths to look out. The streets are a bit busy and he wonders how late it is. It's almost quiet with only a little bustling of people taking and only one or two cars passing by as the crash through wet puddles on the road. The stars above twinkling without care.

Douxie sighs and shuts the window closed this time. Then he thinks to himself of how it was open in the first place. But before he can ponder any longer he's hit in the back of the head and slumping to the ground, easily unconscious. The last thing he hears is the window sliding up again.

...

He groans as he comes to. A jolt in his head stops him from looking up, and he hisses at the pain. Trying to ease the growing ache, he tries breathing slowly. It isn't much, but he can now lift his head up, and almost have relief flood him as a wood meets his head to rest on from behind.

And he takes it all in at once.

His hands are bound behind him and he stops trying to wriggle them free from the pole he's tied to. He gazes around as carefully so as to not hurt his head any more. And realizes he's in some sort of warehouse. Bound to the middle with a pole sticking up high in the ceiling. Many more poles along the stretch to support the building. There's a door ahead, but its blocked with what looks to be hay or debris of sort.

The moonlight only doing so much as it shines from somewhere behind him. Illuminating his surroundings just barely.

At this point he sees it fit to try and get out before his captures make a move. But he stops in his plans, when he tries to seek out for his magic, he realizes, it's gon-

"Only temporarily, Master Wizard." An icy voice speaks. He breaths out slowly, he guesses, to see a mist, feeling the grip of ice now touching his pores. Skrael.

He wants to scream, yell, anything. But the pounding in his head would do him no good and getting worked up isn't an option just yet. He needs answers and first things first.