Sequoia Coast house of wax

they've given you back your life, insisted the soft, modulated voice in the man's mind as he sat up upon the sand, elbows pocking the wet drifts. his body ached; his head moreso.
around his throat was the thin weight of a grey strap, one which held a tiny square contraption tucked into the deep fur along the right side of his neck. it cost barely a thought by now, but when lestan swallowed he could feel it.
the soft ears splayed. you are healthy and plush, alive and — 
and empty.
the mayfair tilted his head to a sloping charcoal sky and tried to conjure blossom's face.
in time, only a stumbling trail of prints marked where he had once laid upon the shoreline.