[He’s barely adjusted to the room’s overwhelming brightness when he hears a soft voice and catches sight of a shock of golden hair beside him slipping from under the covers. So those weren't pillows under the sheets. His frown deepens, the gnawing hunger in his gut twisting tighter as his gaze falls on the man.
Kaveh, he calls himself. Sylus’s eyes move over him, taking in the way he seems to blend with the brightness around him as if he were part of the rays themselves. The thought irritates him. Why would they place someone like him, someone who seems so obviously acclimated to this place, in the same room? Was this man supposed to be some sort of guide, sent to ease him into whatever twisted game this is?
The mere idea grates on him. But intel is intel regardless of who grants it. Sylus’s eyes move to the gauzy curtains that flutter gently in the breeze, the soft light filtering through them almost painful to his dark-adapted senses. The brightness is unbearable, suffocating in its warmth. His stomach pangs again, a sharp reminder of the hunger that continues to gnaw at him, deep and insistent, and he groans, adjusts his spot on the bed.]
Can you close the curtains? [Sylus finally asks, his voice curt and low, laced with the irritation that simmers just beneath the surface. They're on Kaveh's side, anyway.] It’s too bright.
no subject
Kaveh, he calls himself. Sylus’s eyes move over him, taking in the way he seems to blend with the brightness around him as if he were part of the rays themselves. The thought irritates him. Why would they place someone like him, someone who seems so obviously acclimated to this place, in the same room? Was this man supposed to be some sort of guide, sent to ease him into whatever twisted game this is?
The mere idea grates on him. But intel is intel regardless of who grants it.
Sylus’s eyes move to the gauzy curtains that flutter gently in the breeze, the soft light filtering through them almost painful to his dark-adapted senses. The brightness is unbearable, suffocating in its warmth. His stomach pangs again, a sharp reminder of the hunger that continues to gnaw at him, deep and insistent, and he groans, adjusts his spot on the bed.]
Can you close the curtains? [Sylus finally asks, his voice curt and low, laced with the irritation that simmers just beneath the surface. They're on Kaveh's side, anyway.] It’s too bright.