[If Signless was from just a little further in his timeline maybe the surgery wouldn't have been so bad. Still horrible, more painful than anything he's ever experienced in his life, but only moderately worse than being tortured, strung up by red hot irons by his wrists, shot in the chest and left to burn in the sun.
He's being uncharacteristically antisocial in the recovery room, staying in or at least close to his bed. Part of the reason is because moving is so painful. His chest feels like it's going to burst, every few beats of his heart a new shock of pain. Even breathing is a chore, every breath he takes feels thick and leaves him gasping. He fell in a pond once when he was a wriggler. Would have drowned if the Dolorosa hadn't been there to pull him out. This feels terrifyingly similar to how it felt to inhale that murky water.
He hasn't caught sight of his reflection since his surgery but he can feel the outward "improvements" Dr. Johnson had made. The dry, aching gills running down his ribcage, the fins attached to his neck that feel like they're falling apart even without being touched.
But the worst part is what they did to his blood. He'd watched as they pumped out his mutant blood and mixed it with indigo, creating that one of a kind tyrian purple so many trolls back home would kill to have. He'd watched as they pumped it back into his body.
Blood doesn't matter, blood is blood, it's not who I am. He has to keep silently telling himself this, repeating his own teachings over and over in his head. It's only blood, it won't effect me, I won't become her.]
no subject
He's being uncharacteristically antisocial in the recovery room, staying in or at least close to his bed. Part of the reason is because moving is so painful. His chest feels like it's going to burst, every few beats of his heart a new shock of pain. Even breathing is a chore, every breath he takes feels thick and leaves him gasping. He fell in a pond once when he was a wriggler. Would have drowned if the Dolorosa hadn't been there to pull him out. This feels terrifyingly similar to how it felt to inhale that murky water.
He hasn't caught sight of his reflection since his surgery but he can feel the outward "improvements" Dr. Johnson had made. The dry, aching gills running down his ribcage, the fins attached to his neck that feel like they're falling apart even without being touched.
But the worst part is what they did to his blood. He'd watched as they pumped out his mutant blood and mixed it with indigo, creating that one of a kind tyrian purple so many trolls back home would kill to have. He'd watched as they pumped it back into his body.
Blood doesn't matter, blood is blood, it's not who I am. He has to keep silently telling himself this, repeating his own teachings over and over in his head. It's only blood, it won't effect me, I won't become her.]