Blackwater Islands nox arcana

He was hot to the touch. The poppies kept him weightless, mindless; he had stopped his fussing and was quiet, but, his skin burned. He breathed open-mouthed where he sprawled and could not drink enough water to cool himself down. His visits with @Bridget had helped until this recent shift in his symptoms.

Inside of his head where he had come to live, the so-called Harka saw himself within a dark and twisting woodland. Each tree was made of shells intricately wedged together. He was there, alone, and unable to take even a single step.

There was no sound except a rising single tone, growing sharper and sharper. He tasted ash upon his tongue and finally managed to turn himself around. He saw the forest burning — himself, untouched. His black sockets both empty save the candle wax inside, and the flickering of two red pupils.

A moan came then, a kick, a gasp.