(no subject)
Karkat had dreamed of the Sufferer before, times when he'd stayed up all morning over scripture and his subconscious had taken over with gory cinematic guilt-riddled speculation; none of it ever quite made sense, the things he'd read blurring over into his own experiences and fears.
This was different. It was clearer, less dramatic, more coherent. More real. When he spoke, the words came from somewhere else, with a passion and sincerity he'd never quite felt, but which now seemed second nature. Everything was familiar but strange, and detailed in a way he wouldn't have thought he had it in him to imagine, and when he woke up he felt lost. He couldn't remember where he was, and the recuperacoon seemed empty with just him in it.
It took a moment for the noise at his door to reach him, and another for it to occur to him that that must have been what woke him up.
It took a few more for him to realise he should probably do something about it.
His head emerged from the recuperacoon very slowly, glistening greenly and squinting.
This was different. It was clearer, less dramatic, more coherent. More real. When he spoke, the words came from somewhere else, with a passion and sincerity he'd never quite felt, but which now seemed second nature. Everything was familiar but strange, and detailed in a way he wouldn't have thought he had it in him to imagine, and when he woke up he felt lost. He couldn't remember where he was, and the recuperacoon seemed empty with just him in it.
It took a moment for the noise at his door to reach him, and another for it to occur to him that that must have been what woke him up.
It took a few more for him to realise he should probably do something about it.
His head emerged from the recuperacoon very slowly, glistening greenly and squinting.

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