Easton watches as Slate’s body moves in rhythm, watching the man's grotesque hands caress Wren's silky smooth skin. The pain isn't instantaneous but for a man who believed he had felt the peak of the pain and had laughed off the nothingness, feeling as if his fated had already been doing the deed. It is something else.
It is a deep churning at the very start. He thought it originated from his stomach as the common unsettled felling often does, but as the pain slowly grows he knows it is all centred from the heart, it travels down his limbs, courses through his veins.
Easton narrows his eyes, trying to calm himself, trying to reduce the pain with pure willpower. Trying hard to deny that he feels anything from watching the vision.
But as he watches Wren flip Slate over, watching her take
