His breath hitches in his throat, but his mind is calm still. He sees the blood run down and feels his stomach drop, very briefly noting the sensation, his hands obligingly working to peel back the robes and find the trapped, struggling wings. Even if he nearly lost his footing, even if it felt like he was hardly standing, he could truthfully say he didn't feel anything at the moment, working like an automaton.
He was not following orders because he felt subservient in anyway, but simply because they were rational orders; the fact that they had suffered the same pain rendered him invulnerable to any attack of misdirected sympathy that might stop him. He didn't have much strength left, so, he'd have to get this in one go, wouldn't he? In a similar vein, in this particular situation, it made perfect sense to lightly trace a line up over the blood-mottled skin, somewhat arbitrarily deciding a good distance to cut, so that his nails would be sufficiently embedded before they reach their mark, which would be the most strategic position to take? For convenience's sake, he must've made a subconscious decision to look upon the strongly-built body before him as an object: some drenched canvas, flimsy paper, then— the engorged cocoon he dug out of earlier. Gouge in, drag down, shred apart, flush out, break free.]
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His breath hitches in his throat, but his mind is calm still. He sees the blood run down and feels his stomach drop, very briefly noting the sensation, his hands obligingly working to peel back the robes and find the trapped, struggling wings. Even if he nearly lost his footing, even if it felt like he was hardly standing, he could truthfully say he didn't feel anything at the moment, working like an automaton.
He was not following orders because he felt subservient in anyway, but simply because they were rational orders; the fact that they had suffered the same pain rendered him invulnerable to any attack of misdirected sympathy that might stop him. He didn't have much strength left, so, he'd have to get this in one go, wouldn't he? In a similar vein, in this particular situation, it made perfect sense to lightly trace a line up over the blood-mottled skin, somewhat arbitrarily deciding a good distance to cut, so that his nails would be sufficiently embedded before they reach their mark, which would be the most strategic position to take? For convenience's sake, he must've made a subconscious decision to look upon the strongly-built body before him as an object: some drenched canvas, flimsy paper, then— the engorged cocoon he dug out of earlier. Gouge in, drag down, shred apart, flush out, break free.]