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Summary
It wasn’t breathing. He could feel the rush of air on his face, the puff of warmth spreading across his neck. It wasn’t breathing, and yet Stephen could feel it. He could hear it. Almost on instinct, he drew nearer, the sunken eyes boring into his, limbs twitching and convulsing as the gusts of air became more frequent. One two three four. Again and again, like a steady rhythm. One two three four. Kneeling before such a creature seemed beastly, watching as doe eyes pleaded unto his own. Its face was caked in a thin layer of wax, its chest stiff and empty of air. One two three four. The sorcerer reached forward, brushing palms against chestnut fur, short and caked with blood. The whimper he released was barely audible, struggling against the constriction of his throat. One. Two. Three. Four. It wasn’t breathing.
OR
Stephen is living in the sanctum with a freshly forgotten Spider-Man and of course,Wong, when he suddenly finds himself plagued with a vision. The same dream over and over and over again. What happens when someone long believed dead seems to appear from thin air? And what does it mean for Stephen, who can’t seem to ignore the odd pull toward him?