( Peter's eyes are still squeezed shut, almost like a little boy hiding from what's under the bed or in the darkness of the closet. He's shuddering, feeling overwhelmed and dangerously close to panic β breathing too tight, too constricted.
Then it speaks again (Trench; it wants Trench). Is it a hushed whisper or a shrill scream? It's not like Paimon, whose spirit feels like too many lights and too many colours, like a hellish kaleidoscope, dazing. This is... darkness, oozing and wet and cold, and Peter's stricken with an almost primal fear, something that feels instinctive. This is something that crawls, seeps, consumes, and his entire soul wants to flinch from it, scramble and claw away.
His eyes fly open just seconds before Falco throws the mirror. In that brief flash, he sees it there in the reflection β its true face, but nothing that could be called a face. Something impossible to understand. It hurts to look at (or does it? Does he instead want to stare into that abysmal mess of nothing and everything? Until there's nothing left of him, only it?), and Peter wants to scream, but then the mirror's shattering into countless pieces of glass.
He's pushing himself backwards, scrambling against the floor, eyes wide and not entirely Peter's, because his own Inner Thing has risen up towards the surface in the throes of all of this. Eyes half-swollen with black, full and shimmering, Paimon swirls within him, both ready to meet a potential threat with force, but also... curious. So curious. The thing called out to him. The thing, the thing, the thing, what is the thing?)
Falcoβ ( Peter gasps with a whimper into the silence. The younger boy's not saying, doing, anything. Peter realises he's scrambled a few feet back from him and sits up, shaking uncontrollably, but then Paimon seeps into his voice and changes it: a soft and emotionless hiss that calls out to Falco, gently. )
Child. The Beast... wants Trench? Wants everything?
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Then it speaks again (Trench; it wants Trench). Is it a hushed whisper or a shrill scream? It's not like Paimon, whose spirit feels like too many lights and too many colours, like a hellish kaleidoscope, dazing. This is... darkness, oozing and wet and cold, and Peter's stricken with an almost primal fear, something that feels instinctive. This is something that crawls, seeps, consumes, and his entire soul wants to flinch from it, scramble and claw away.
His eyes fly open just seconds before Falco throws the mirror. In that brief flash, he sees it there in the reflection β its true face, but nothing that could be called a face. Something impossible to understand. It hurts to look at (or does it? Does he instead want to stare into that abysmal mess of nothing and everything? Until there's nothing left of him, only it?), and Peter wants to scream, but then the mirror's shattering into countless pieces of glass.
He's pushing himself backwards, scrambling against the floor, eyes wide and not entirely Peter's, because his own Inner Thing has risen up towards the surface in the throes of all of this. Eyes half-swollen with black, full and shimmering, Paimon swirls within him, both ready to meet a potential threat with force, but also... curious. So curious. The thing called out to him. The thing, the thing, the thing, what is the thing? )
Falcoβ ( Peter gasps with a whimper into the silence. The younger boy's not saying, doing, anything. Peter realises he's scrambled a few feet back from him and sits up, shaking uncontrollably, but then Paimon seeps into his voice and changes it: a soft and emotionless hiss that calls out to Falco, gently. )
Child. The Beast... wants Trench? Wants everything?