There is no clawing in, no wrenching open, no sudden inpouring of smoke or cold ocean into his mind. No Armand. Of course there isn't. If Armand were strong enough to come for him now (if Armand were not rendered into psychic paste), if he had any inclination to do so, there was the whole daytime to do it in.
It isn't wholly what he is afraid of finding. Of happening.
His own mind feels heavy, hurt, wild. Power just that little bit beyond his ability to contain, to control, a little like he is a coin toss between exploding any mind he touches or imploding his own from the effort. Fingernails dig a little into his own scalp.
Here, maybe the sense of scuff marks at his defenses. Lestat, Lestat, Lestat.
Out of nowhere, the sensation for Daniel might be a little like if a fast-moving car winged out from a blindspot and clipped him across the front with the attitude of a snipping: 'what.' Taillights disappearing off in the distance and all.
no subject
It isn't wholly what he is afraid of finding. Of happening.
His own mind feels heavy, hurt, wild. Power just that little bit beyond his ability to contain, to control, a little like he is a coin toss between exploding any mind he touches or imploding his own from the effort. Fingernails dig a little into his own scalp.
Here, maybe the sense of scuff marks at his defenses. Lestat, Lestat, Lestat.
Out of nowhere, the sensation for Daniel might be a little like if a fast-moving car winged out from a blindspot and clipped him across the front with the attitude of a snipping: 'what.' Taillights disappearing off in the distance and all.