Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-25808351-20180615005427/@comment-30014014-20181127071256

Prad’s hand burn inwardly as she took hold of it. No marks left upon it, yet it screeched with the cracking pulse of fire, a fiendish pain overtaking it.

Prad remained unchanged, his desire to let the pain flow through tears intense. A hand on his shoulder, from beyond '”You feel her touch? This is her act...to brand and bind...like the previous one...'

As they wound up at the kitchen barracks, his eyes were docile, his hand knitting the other through the burnt illusion, reeling still in pain.

Hearing the man speak of him prompted Prad “Ohh, I’m just a guest”. This serration, while hidden from sight, gave him regressed acts. Of then freedom of roaming the halls had made his less unnerved, this reminder, courtesy of the man in the wall, would burn it away.