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Occtis was dead. There was no heart in his chest, no oxygen to enter or exit his lungs, no blood flowing, and yet he could live - if that was the right word to call his current situation.
Occtis was dead. The passage of time would no longer follow him. He would no longer age as a human should. His soul, unraveling and unwhole, was difficult to comprehend. He had felt himself unraveling in the underworld, had felt himself… Not exist, and yet, here he was, in a bedroom in the Lloy home.
Pin curled at the edge of the bed Occtis had been given for the night, privacy to come to grips with what had happened. His familiar chittered softly as he looked at him with those impassive button eyes, but he felt the connection, the confusion that was difficult to express on an undead animal’s face.
Occtis shook his head. “I-I-I don’t… I d-don’t know,” he muttered to his familiar, sitting on the bed with no small amount of unease, as if he could infect everything around him with undead-ness.
He felt his neck, smooth and no longer wrapped by a garrotte. Healed while his soul was unraveling, according to Thaisha. His Adam's apple bobbed as he gulped, more from habit than need to clear his throat. His mouth was dry, now that the majority of a human body’s bodily functions were unnecessary.
Pin jumped onto his lap, and Occtis absently ran a hand through his fur, the familiarity of the soft, undead fur calming him down. Despite not having a heart with which could hammer against his chest and raise his anxiety, the fears and the worries swirled around his head and the sensations could still be mimicked.
Occtis was dead. And yet he wasn’t. He wasn’t sure what would come in the morning, but in the solitude with his familiar on his lap, he could let the world turn without him. Tomorrow he could deal with Sir Julien’s angry grief, Lady Aranessa’s grief-turned-determination, everyone’s questions, and his own theories.
Tonight, however, he could unravel. Just like his soul.