When Drozoliel appeared, it was always with that deep, dark, rich smell, like a garden at the bottom of an ocean.
At first, flowers appeared where the horned figure stepped. Soon, they began to spring up from Ras's heels, and creep up the cuff of his socks.
He bent to brush them away, but when his fingers touched the petals, feelings went through his head like an electric shock. If he had lived a grey life before, with Gilda the only solitary point of light and color, it was like he had suddenly been thrown into a fire. Pain, anger, hatred, love, joy, a whirlwind so intense he began to throw up. He didn't remember falling, although he realized vaguely on the ground. His own thoughts, which were a faint litany of needing help, of wanting Gilda, were drowned by the thousands of other feelings. It was all there, sex, disappointment, betrayal, he couldn't breathe, murder, hunger, being filled, holidays, money, skin on porcelain, stop! He asked, stop, stop, stop!
But it kept going on, and he was scared, and tired, and everything hurt, and blood smeared down his face as he wailed, shrieking.
It was as if his mind had been replaced by walls and walls of televisions, whole hallways of televisions, all of them on, all of them huge, until none of it made sense-
Nearby, Drozoliel crouched in sympathy. The figure touched his long claws to Ras's forehead.
-until it was all too much, and Ras surrendered to a dark and dreamless peace. His body went limp, vomit stuck to his chin and clothes and blood smeared on his face, but he was breathing. Alive.
Quote:
[ There is no actual image in this vision. Instead, you are assaulted with hundreds, thousands of conflicting thoughts, emotions, and ideals, all of them not your character's own. Your actual character's nose begins to bleed, and they fall to the ground, convulsing. They are unable to roll any other visions from the above if they reach this prompt and eventually pass out ].
