[He does know, and he knows he should elaborate if he wants help. He's just afraid of speaking the truth aloud, as though it will be all the more real if he does. He brings one stiff arm over to cling to the other, half-crossing them.]
In the last month I had before... Well. [Right. His death. The death for Carlisle, the death that specifically was the end of Carlisle, Carlisle's death. That death.] I would lose entire portions of my day. Minutes at first, then an hour, then more. I couldn't recall what I had done, or if I'd done anything at all. Sometimes, I would just find myself standing in the middle of my study, but it was the afternoon rather than the morning in the span of a heartbeat. I felt distant from everything when it happened, as though I were no longer there. And most prevalent was... anger. Resentment. A volatile remorse.
[All things characteristic of the undead, and Revenants in particular. His brow tightens, his teeth grinding together behind his mask.]
I tried to go with grace and humility, but I was damned regardless. How awful would my end be? Would I eventually lose an entire day? Or longer? What had I done to deserve that?
[He seems to realize he's getting worked up; he sucks in a breath, pushing it in and out. It quells his nerves just a little, that tremble in his arms slowing down.]
I felt it then, when I extended my reach too far. I wanted to finish healing him, but that bitterness rose in me, tainting my energies. I couldn't control it -- it consumed me for but a moment, instinctual and reflexive, but if I had kept healing him then, I might have done more harm than good. More harm than I did, as it stands.
no subject
[He does know, and he knows he should elaborate if he wants help. He's just afraid of speaking the truth aloud, as though it will be all the more real if he does. He brings one stiff arm over to cling to the other, half-crossing them.]
In the last month I had before... Well. [Right. His death. The death for Carlisle, the death that specifically was the end of Carlisle, Carlisle's death. That death.] I would lose entire portions of my day. Minutes at first, then an hour, then more. I couldn't recall what I had done, or if I'd done anything at all. Sometimes, I would just find myself standing in the middle of my study, but it was the afternoon rather than the morning in the span of a heartbeat. I felt distant from everything when it happened, as though I were no longer there. And most prevalent was... anger. Resentment. A volatile remorse.
[All things characteristic of the undead, and Revenants in particular. His brow tightens, his teeth grinding together behind his mask.]
I tried to go with grace and humility, but I was damned regardless. How awful would my end be? Would I eventually lose an entire day? Or longer? What had I done to deserve that?
[He seems to realize he's getting worked up; he sucks in a breath, pushing it in and out. It quells his nerves just a little, that tremble in his arms slowing down.]
I felt it then, when I extended my reach too far. I wanted to finish healing him, but that bitterness rose in me, tainting my energies. I couldn't control it -- it consumed me for but a moment, instinctual and reflexive, but if I had kept healing him then, I might have done more harm than good. More harm than I did, as it stands.