schrodingerslibrary

[schrodingerslibrary]

The Pied Crow simply gives him an understanding, weak caw, his eyes fluttering shut with a shudder of pain as he tries to rest himself.

Crowe's head snaps as he senses one of the companions getting close, his heart racing as he looked up... only to stare in confusion at a moth. The carefully held out his hand, a growing sense of fear creeping over his soul as he took the letter.

"You... are not one of mine... who are you...?

With practiced ease he slit the top of the letter, opening it as quickly reading the contents. His heart sank with every word, his grip on the letter tightening as the horrid understanding settled into his mind.

He knew.

With shaking hands he grabbed a new piece of paper from the desk, trying not to lose a grip on the clawing sorrow trying to rip his shattered soul apart.

My dearest Henry,

Please my friend... it is not so simple. The books, the knowledge, the worlds contained within... it is not merely stories. You are not just words on a page, or a puppet to the latter, the nature of all of this... far too dificult to discribe. It is... far to complicated for me to explain within a letter, but please my friend, I beg of you, do not fall with what you think is true.

The Library records.

Do not read others, there are things that I cannot bring you back from if you know. They are not your duty to keep, but mine.

You are not deserving for this fate, you never did anything to earn it.

Please, stay calm... I will be there soon.

~Crowe~

(The fluttering sound of wings breaks the horrid crawling silence of the Dark Library, Harbinger barely having the strength to land properly as he hits the dusty flooring next to Jekyll's feet. He coughs out the letter, shutting his eyes for a moment to rest)

My dearest friend,

I am so sorry. This should have never happened.

Please, I am coming to get you out of that horrid place. That sentence is MINE to carry, not yours.

Hold the line my friend, keep your wits about you, and whatever you do... DO NOT START READING. Stay safe. I will get you out.

Regards,

~Crowe~

Jekyll is lying on the floor, staring up into the fog and trying to cure the spiral going on and on and down in his mind, when a letter gets promptly dropped on his face

mmh..

He stirs, glaring at the letter as if it were some omen of death, looking worriedly at Harbinger before reading

..get me out?

Don't..read?

"Hah...too late for that my friend." his voice is wry, hollow from hours? of staring up at nothing and daring that bird to come back down and torment him

He drags himself up to sitting, standing only to grab the quill and the inkwell

"Crowe,

..I fear it is too late. Unless you mean do not read other books because... I know what I am. Nothing but a forgery of words that someone has written for me. Don't come here. You're free now.

Henry"

He had hoped the hopelessness didn't creep into the writing but even that had to spite him too.

Sable appears before Harbinger can even lift his head, chirping a few words of greeting at Jekyll before flying off with the note clutched tightly.

Silence once again, well, save for the few noises Harbinger makes. Jekyll looks over, wishing to give him something, anything to make him feel better.

"I...don't know if there are any seeds in here. I'm...sorry."

@schrodingerslibrary

[schrodingerslibrary]

Harbinger gives him a half-hearted glare, but there seems not to be much heat behind it. In fact, he seems weak, ot at least drained. Crowe gives him a soft look, reaching out his hand to shakily pet the Pied crow's head.

"My companion... my loyal friend... do you have energy for one more flight?"

Harbinger gave him a fierce look, bluffing up his feathers and letting out a caw. The ex- Librarian let out a small laugh, grabbing his pen, and beginning to write.

It took crazy amounts of effort to get the unconscious Crowe in something like a stable condition, that broken chest oc his struggling with every breath. Many times he would gasp himself awake, his body so unused to living that it would stop functioning, only for the natural instinct of life to shock him back to breathing.

He would sob in pain for hours afterwards, gripping the sides of the makeshift bed he had been given as he tried to choke through the agony of living. His body was broken, his soul worse, he could feel every edge of the parts that didn't fit anymore, theedges scraping across his too real being and sending him coughing up bled Ectoplasim far too many times.

The memories wouldn't stop.

He had so many lives... so many faces, all similar but never completely the same. All tied to him, but had lived their own existences across the spiraling web of realities. He could hear them all. Clawing at his mind, thrashing where their shard of his soul didnt fit.

Worst of all...

He couldn't feel or hear the Library at all.

It was silent, eerily silent after centuries of constant whispering, breathing, direction... its heartbeat had been his own for so long that the one in his chest felt forign. Yet he still could not feel it, even in the fits of lucid dreams.

Crowe shakily drew a breath, wincing at the burn of the motion before struggling to let it out again. He had been healing, at least some under Hyde's care. He had been able to assume his most human form (although in this reality's standard, he wasn't sure how human his inkstained claws really could be called. Or his twin teardrop facial markings.) And that had dulled the pain to a degree.

He let out a soft grunt of pain as he tries to move. He... he had to move. He had to help. He had to...

There was something... someone he needed to save...

The memories in his head tumble over eachother, drawing a wince over his pale features. He... he couldn't remember which face was the right one... there were so many...

Hyde knocks softly on the door, stepping in with a tray of nutritious oddities and things that Crowe barely touches- probably still getting accustomed to living again.

Hey..

He sets the tray of food down on a small desk, slowly crouching down to inspect the multiple bandages still wrapped rather losely around his chest. They were tighter before but the sensory overload got too great at one point or another

...Good. You're healing at least. As much as is possible

[schrodingerslibrary]

He clenches his teeth, just barely showing a hint of fangs as he took a shaky breath.

"Whatever must be done... I trust you fully, Edward."

He glances around the room, looking for one of his remaining companions. Perhaps he could send a letter to Henry, see if he could contact him.

It took crazy amounts of effort to get the unconscious Crowe in something like a stable condition, that broken chest oc his struggling with every breath. Many times he would gasp himself awake, his body so unused to living that it would stop functioning, only for the natural instinct of life to shock him back to breathing.

He would sob in pain for hours afterwards, gripping the sides of the makeshift bed he had been given as he tried to choke through the agony of living. His body was broken, his soul worse, he could feel every edge of the parts that didn't fit anymore, theedges scraping across his too real being and sending him coughing up bled Ectoplasim far too many times.

The memories wouldn't stop.

He had so many lives... so many faces, all similar but never completely the same. All tied to him, but had lived their own existences across the spiraling web of realities. He could hear them all. Clawing at his mind, thrashing where their shard of his soul didnt fit.

Worst of all...

He couldn't feel or hear the Library at all.

It was silent, eerily silent after centuries of constant whispering, breathing, direction... its heartbeat had been his own for so long that the one in his chest felt forign. Yet he still could not feel it, even in the fits of lucid dreams.

Crowe shakily drew a breath, wincing at the burn of the motion before struggling to let it out again. He had been healing, at least some under Hyde's care. He had been able to assume his most human form (although in this reality's standard, he wasn't sure how human his inkstained claws really could be called. Or his twin teardrop facial markings.) And that had dulled the pain to a degree.

He let out a soft grunt of pain as he tries to move. He... he had to move. He had to help. He had to...

There was something... someone he needed to save...

The memories in his head tumble over eachother, drawing a wince over his pale features. He... he couldn't remember which face was the right one... there were so many...

Hyde knocks softly on the door, stepping in with a tray of nutritious oddities and things that Crowe barely touches- probably still getting accustomed to living again.

Hey..

He sets the tray of food down on a small desk, slowly crouching down to inspect the multiple bandages still wrapped rather losely around his chest. They were tighter before but the sensory overload got too great at one point or another

...Good. You're healing at least. As much as is possible

[schrodingerslibrary]

Crowe lets out a soft hiss at that, carefully sliding the book back into place with a gentle, practiced motion. Right. DISTANCE and miles was something he had to worry about now, along with time. He took a deep breath, wincing as the feeling tugged at his chest.

"If that... wouls be the only way... but surely there is some manner of locomotive? Something faster?"

It took crazy amounts of effort to get the unconscious Crowe in something like a stable condition, that broken chest oc his struggling with every breath. Many times he would gasp himself awake, his body so unused to living that it would stop functioning, only for the natural instinct of life to shock him back to breathing.

He would sob in pain for hours afterwards, gripping the sides of the makeshift bed he had been given as he tried to choke through the agony of living. His body was broken, his soul worse, he could feel every edge of the parts that didn't fit anymore, theedges scraping across his too real being and sending him coughing up bled Ectoplasim far too many times.

The memories wouldn't stop.

He had so many lives... so many faces, all similar but never completely the same. All tied to him, but had lived their own existences across the spiraling web of realities. He could hear them all. Clawing at his mind, thrashing where their shard of his soul didnt fit.

Worst of all...

He couldn't feel or hear the Library at all.

It was silent, eerily silent after centuries of constant whispering, breathing, direction... its heartbeat had been his own for so long that the one in his chest felt forign. Yet he still could not feel it, even in the fits of lucid dreams.

Crowe shakily drew a breath, wincing at the burn of the motion before struggling to let it out again. He had been healing, at least some under Hyde's care. He had been able to assume his most human form (although in this reality's standard, he wasn't sure how human his inkstained claws really could be called. Or his twin teardrop facial markings.) And that had dulled the pain to a degree.

He let out a soft grunt of pain as he tries to move. He... he had to move. He had to help. He had to...

There was something... someone he needed to save...

The memories in his head tumble over eachother, drawing a wince over his pale features. He... he couldn't remember which face was the right one... there were so many...

Hyde knocks softly on the door, stepping in with a tray of nutritious oddities and things that Crowe barely touches- probably still getting accustomed to living again.

Hey..

He sets the tray of food down on a small desk, slowly crouching down to inspect the multiple bandages still wrapped rather losely around his chest. They were tighter before but the sensory overload got too great at one point or another

...Good. You're healing at least. As much as is possible

[schrodingerslibrary]

Crowe feels his new heartbeat studder in his chest, his eyes flicking back down to the pages.

Victor Frankenstein.

By all rights, his knowledge should not be accessible to this reality... at least to his knowledge. How he had missed that he would never know, but that little overlook might just be the key to tearing open the fabric of reality again. He gripped the edge of the book just a little tighter, glancing back at the machine.

"We need to see him."

It took crazy amounts of effort to get the unconscious Crowe in something like a stable condition, that broken chest oc his struggling with every breath. Many times he would gasp himself awake, his body so unused to living that it would stop functioning, only for the natural instinct of life to shock him back to breathing.

He would sob in pain for hours afterwards, gripping the sides of the makeshift bed he had been given as he tried to choke through the agony of living. His body was broken, his soul worse, he could feel every edge of the parts that didn't fit anymore, theedges scraping across his too real being and sending him coughing up bled Ectoplasim far too many times.

The memories wouldn't stop.

He had so many lives... so many faces, all similar but never completely the same. All tied to him, but had lived their own existences across the spiraling web of realities. He could hear them all. Clawing at his mind, thrashing where their shard of his soul didnt fit.

Worst of all...

He couldn't feel or hear the Library at all.

It was silent, eerily silent after centuries of constant whispering, breathing, direction... its heartbeat had been his own for so long that the one in his chest felt forign. Yet he still could not feel it, even in the fits of lucid dreams.

Crowe shakily drew a breath, wincing at the burn of the motion before struggling to let it out again. He had been healing, at least some under Hyde's care. He had been able to assume his most human form (although in this reality's standard, he wasn't sure how human his inkstained claws really could be called. Or his twin teardrop facial markings.) And that had dulled the pain to a degree.

He let out a soft grunt of pain as he tries to move. He... he had to move. He had to help. He had to...

There was something... someone he needed to save...

The memories in his head tumble over eachother, drawing a wince over his pale features. He... he couldn't remember which face was the right one... there were so many...

Hyde knocks softly on the door, stepping in with a tray of nutritious oddities and things that Crowe barely touches- probably still getting accustomed to living again.

Hey..

He sets the tray of food down on a small desk, slowly crouching down to inspect the multiple bandages still wrapped rather losely around his chest. They were tighter before but the sensory overload got too great at one point or another

...Good. You're healing at least. As much as is possible

[schrodingerslibrary]

Crowe narrows his eyes, his clawed fingers tracing over the pages. Something flickered at the back of his mind, the dying echoes of his abilities drawing him to the book.

There... there had to be something.

He had to find a way to find out how to get the Library's attention.

The ex-Librarian combed through the info, his sharp gaze breezing through the entries as he tried to find where it had all gone wrong. There had to be some connection... something he could use...

A fray in the threads of this reality that he could manipulate enough to summon the attention of the Library.

His eyes catch on a small scribbled note, just over one of the entries of monsters in the Alps. It was a messier scrawl than he was used to, the words lost ti a doctor's handwriting.

Alps.

Monsters in the Alps...

Crowe looks up, his eyes betraying the impossible hope in his chest as he turns to Hyde.

"Mr. Hyde... what does this say?"

It took crazy amounts of effort to get the unconscious Crowe in something like a stable condition, that broken chest oc his struggling with every breath. Many times he would gasp himself awake, his body so unused to living that it would stop functioning, only for the natural instinct of life to shock him back to breathing.

He would sob in pain for hours afterwards, gripping the sides of the makeshift bed he had been given as he tried to choke through the agony of living. His body was broken, his soul worse, he could feel every edge of the parts that didn't fit anymore, theedges scraping across his too real being and sending him coughing up bled Ectoplasim far too many times.

The memories wouldn't stop.

He had so many lives... so many faces, all similar but never completely the same. All tied to him, but had lived their own existences across the spiraling web of realities. He could hear them all. Clawing at his mind, thrashing where their shard of his soul didnt fit.

Worst of all...

He couldn't feel or hear the Library at all.

It was silent, eerily silent after centuries of constant whispering, breathing, direction... its heartbeat had been his own for so long that the one in his chest felt forign. Yet he still could not feel it, even in the fits of lucid dreams.

Crowe shakily drew a breath, wincing at the burn of the motion before struggling to let it out again. He had been healing, at least some under Hyde's care. He had been able to assume his most human form (although in this reality's standard, he wasn't sure how human his inkstained claws really could be called. Or his twin teardrop facial markings.) And that had dulled the pain to a degree.

He let out a soft grunt of pain as he tries to move. He... he had to move. He had to help. He had to...

There was something... someone he needed to save...

The memories in his head tumble over eachother, drawing a wince over his pale features. He... he couldn't remember which face was the right one... there were so many...

Hyde knocks softly on the door, stepping in with a tray of nutritious oddities and things that Crowe barely touches- probably still getting accustomed to living again.

Hey..

He sets the tray of food down on a small desk, slowly crouching down to inspect the multiple bandages still wrapped rather losely around his chest. They were tighter before but the sensory overload got too great at one point or another

...Good. You're healing at least. As much as is possible

[schrodingerslibrary]

Crowe carefully reaches out, his claws feather delicate with the precious tome as he slides it with practiced ease from the shelf. He glances over to Hyde for a moment, watching him work before opening the book.

It took crazy amounts of effort to get the unconscious Crowe in something like a stable condition, that broken chest oc his struggling with every breath. Many times he would gasp himself awake, his body so unused to living that it would stop functioning, only for the natural instinct of life to shock him back to breathing.

He would sob in pain for hours afterwards, gripping the sides of the makeshift bed he had been given as he tried to choke through the agony of living. His body was broken, his soul worse, he could feel every edge of the parts that didn't fit anymore, theedges scraping across his too real being and sending him coughing up bled Ectoplasim far too many times.

The memories wouldn't stop.

He had so many lives... so many faces, all similar but never completely the same. All tied to him, but had lived their own existences across the spiraling web of realities. He could hear them all. Clawing at his mind, thrashing where their shard of his soul didnt fit.

Worst of all...

He couldn't feel or hear the Library at all.

It was silent, eerily silent after centuries of constant whispering, breathing, direction... its heartbeat had been his own for so long that the one in his chest felt forign. Yet he still could not feel it, even in the fits of lucid dreams.

Crowe shakily drew a breath, wincing at the burn of the motion before struggling to let it out again. He had been healing, at least some under Hyde's care. He had been able to assume his most human form (although in this reality's standard, he wasn't sure how human his inkstained claws really could be called. Or his twin teardrop facial markings.) And that had dulled the pain to a degree.

He let out a soft grunt of pain as he tries to move. He... he had to move. He had to help. He had to...

There was something... someone he needed to save...

The memories in his head tumble over eachother, drawing a wince over his pale features. He... he couldn't remember which face was the right one... there were so many...

Hyde knocks softly on the door, stepping in with a tray of nutritious oddities and things that Crowe barely touches- probably still getting accustomed to living again.

Hey..

He sets the tray of food down on a small desk, slowly crouching down to inspect the multiple bandages still wrapped rather losely around his chest. They were tighter before but the sensory overload got too great at one point or another

...Good. You're healing at least. As much as is possible

[schrodingerslibrary]

Crowe's eyes are immediately drawn to it, the burned feathers along his shoulders raising as he slowly walked over to the bookshelf.

It took crazy amounts of effort to get the unconscious Crowe in something like a stable condition, that broken chest oc his struggling with every breath. Many times he would gasp himself awake, his body so unused to living that it would stop functioning, only for the natural instinct of life to shock him back to breathing.

He would sob in pain for hours afterwards, gripping the sides of the makeshift bed he had been given as he tried to choke through the agony of living. His body was broken, his soul worse, he could feel every edge of the parts that didn't fit anymore, theedges scraping across his too real being and sending him coughing up bled Ectoplasim far too many times.

The memories wouldn't stop.

He had so many lives... so many faces, all similar but never completely the same. All tied to him, but had lived their own existences across the spiraling web of realities. He could hear them all. Clawing at his mind, thrashing where their shard of his soul didnt fit.

Worst of all...

He couldn't feel or hear the Library at all.

It was silent, eerily silent after centuries of constant whispering, breathing, direction... its heartbeat had been his own for so long that the one in his chest felt forign. Yet he still could not feel it, even in the fits of lucid dreams.

Crowe shakily drew a breath, wincing at the burn of the motion before struggling to let it out again. He had been healing, at least some under Hyde's care. He had been able to assume his most human form (although in this reality's standard, he wasn't sure how human his inkstained claws really could be called. Or his twin teardrop facial markings.) And that had dulled the pain to a degree.

He let out a soft grunt of pain as he tries to move. He... he had to move. He had to help. He had to...

There was something... someone he needed to save...

The memories in his head tumble over eachother, drawing a wince over his pale features. He... he couldn't remember which face was the right one... there were so many...

Hyde knocks softly on the door, stepping in with a tray of nutritious oddities and things that Crowe barely touches- probably still getting accustomed to living again.

Hey..

He sets the tray of food down on a small desk, slowly crouching down to inspect the multiple bandages still wrapped rather losely around his chest. They were tighter before but the sensory overload got too great at one point or another

...Good. You're healing at least. As much as is possible

[schrodingerslibrary]

Crowe grits his teeth, clenching his hands to fists at his sides.

They had to draw the gaze of the Library... somehow. He needed a change. A chance.

If he could get his ability to work...

It took crazy amounts of effort to get the unconscious Crowe in something like a stable condition, that broken chest oc his struggling with every breath. Many times he would gasp himself awake, his body so unused to living that it would stop functioning, only for the natural instinct of life to shock him back to breathing.

He would sob in pain for hours afterwards, gripping the sides of the makeshift bed he had been given as he tried to choke through the agony of living. His body was broken, his soul worse, he could feel every edge of the parts that didn't fit anymore, theedges scraping across his too real being and sending him coughing up bled Ectoplasim far too many times.

The memories wouldn't stop.

He had so many lives... so many faces, all similar but never completely the same. All tied to him, but had lived their own existences across the spiraling web of realities. He could hear them all. Clawing at his mind, thrashing where their shard of his soul didnt fit.

Worst of all...

He couldn't feel or hear the Library at all.

It was silent, eerily silent after centuries of constant whispering, breathing, direction... its heartbeat had been his own for so long that the one in his chest felt forign. Yet he still could not feel it, even in the fits of lucid dreams.

Crowe shakily drew a breath, wincing at the burn of the motion before struggling to let it out again. He had been healing, at least some under Hyde's care. He had been able to assume his most human form (although in this reality's standard, he wasn't sure how human his inkstained claws really could be called. Or his twin teardrop facial markings.) And that had dulled the pain to a degree.

He let out a soft grunt of pain as he tries to move. He... he had to move. He had to help. He had to...

There was something... someone he needed to save...

The memories in his head tumble over eachother, drawing a wince over his pale features. He... he couldn't remember which face was the right one... there were so many...

Hyde knocks softly on the door, stepping in with a tray of nutritious oddities and things that Crowe barely touches- probably still getting accustomed to living again.

Hey..

He sets the tray of food down on a small desk, slowly crouching down to inspect the multiple bandages still wrapped rather losely around his chest. They were tighter before but the sensory overload got too great at one point or another

...Good. You're healing at least. As much as is possible

[schrodingerslibrary]

That only seems to make the feeling grow worse, his face twisting into a pained grimace as he looks away.

"You... you are not... this is not right. You are not... you are not right. The pages... the pages are all mixed..."

He digs his claws into his own arm, ignoring the feeling of pain and something wet beneath his fingers. He... he needed to fix it. He had to put the lines back. He had to fix it. He had to make the Library take him back.

His world was already gone.

He was already forgotten.

But Jekyll?

Jekyll had so much to live for.

It took crazy amounts of effort to get the unconscious Crowe in something like a stable condition, that broken chest oc his struggling with every breath. Many times he would gasp himself awake, his body so unused to living that it would stop functioning, only for the natural instinct of life to shock him back to breathing.

He would sob in pain for hours afterwards, gripping the sides of the makeshift bed he had been given as he tried to choke through the agony of living. His body was broken, his soul worse, he could feel every edge of the parts that didn't fit anymore, theedges scraping across his too real being and sending him coughing up bled Ectoplasim far too many times.

The memories wouldn't stop.

He had so many lives... so many faces, all similar but never completely the same. All tied to him, but had lived their own existences across the spiraling web of realities. He could hear them all. Clawing at his mind, thrashing where their shard of his soul didnt fit.

Worst of all...

He couldn't feel or hear the Library at all.

It was silent, eerily silent after centuries of constant whispering, breathing, direction... its heartbeat had been his own for so long that the one in his chest felt forign. Yet he still could not feel it, even in the fits of lucid dreams.

Crowe shakily drew a breath, wincing at the burn of the motion before struggling to let it out again. He had been healing, at least some under Hyde's care. He had been able to assume his most human form (although in this reality's standard, he wasn't sure how human his inkstained claws really could be called. Or his twin teardrop facial markings.) And that had dulled the pain to a degree.

He let out a soft grunt of pain as he tries to move. He... he had to move. He had to help. He had to...

There was something... someone he needed to save...

The memories in his head tumble over eachother, drawing a wince over his pale features. He... he couldn't remember which face was the right one... there were so many...

Hyde knocks softly on the door, stepping in with a tray of nutritious oddities and things that Crowe barely touches- probably still getting accustomed to living again.

Hey..

He sets the tray of food down on a small desk, slowly crouching down to inspect the multiple bandages still wrapped rather losely around his chest. They were tighter before but the sensory overload got too great at one point or another

...Good. You're healing at least. As much as is possible

[schrodingerslibrary]

It was wrong.

It was so so so wrong.

Hyde was wrong.

The lab was wrong.

The feeling was wrong.

The broken threads of reality that scraped against his misfitting soul was WRONG.

He stops short, his breathing too rapid and his forign heartbeat too painful to keep moving as he clings to Hyde, struggling to stay standing.

"It... its all wrong..."

It took crazy amounts of effort to get the unconscious Crowe in something like a stable condition, that broken chest oc his struggling with every breath. Many times he would gasp himself awake, his body so unused to living that it would stop functioning, only for the natural instinct of life to shock him back to breathing.

He would sob in pain for hours afterwards, gripping the sides of the makeshift bed he had been given as he tried to choke through the agony of living. His body was broken, his soul worse, he could feel every edge of the parts that didn't fit anymore, theedges scraping across his too real being and sending him coughing up bled Ectoplasim far too many times.

The memories wouldn't stop.

He had so many lives... so many faces, all similar but never completely the same. All tied to him, but had lived their own existences across the spiraling web of realities. He could hear them all. Clawing at his mind, thrashing where their shard of his soul didnt fit.

Worst of all...

He couldn't feel or hear the Library at all.

It was silent, eerily silent after centuries of constant whispering, breathing, direction... its heartbeat had been his own for so long that the one in his chest felt forign. Yet he still could not feel it, even in the fits of lucid dreams.

Crowe shakily drew a breath, wincing at the burn of the motion before struggling to let it out again. He had been healing, at least some under Hyde's care. He had been able to assume his most human form (although in this reality's standard, he wasn't sure how human his inkstained claws really could be called. Or his twin teardrop facial markings.) And that had dulled the pain to a degree.

He let out a soft grunt of pain as he tries to move. He... he had to move. He had to help. He had to...

There was something... someone he needed to save...

The memories in his head tumble over eachother, drawing a wince over his pale features. He... he couldn't remember which face was the right one... there were so many...

Hyde knocks softly on the door, stepping in with a tray of nutritious oddities and things that Crowe barely touches- probably still getting accustomed to living again.

Hey..

He sets the tray of food down on a small desk, slowly crouching down to inspect the multiple bandages still wrapped rather losely around his chest. They were tighter before but the sensory overload got too great at one point or another

...Good. You're healing at least. As much as is possible

[schrodingerslibrary]

He bites back a cry of pain as the cracks of his form tug and shift, his markings and the impossible glowing parts of galaxies within him flaring just a little brighter under the pain as he struggles to pull himself up. He clenched his teeth against it, trying his best to ignore the horrid feeling of air passing through his body.

It took crazy amounts of effort to get the unconscious Crowe in something like a stable condition, that broken chest oc his struggling with every breath. Many times he would gasp himself awake, his body so unused to living that it would stop functioning, only for the natural instinct of life to shock him back to breathing.

He would sob in pain for hours afterwards, gripping the sides of the makeshift bed he had been given as he tried to choke through the agony of living. His body was broken, his soul worse, he could feel every edge of the parts that didn't fit anymore, theedges scraping across his too real being and sending him coughing up bled Ectoplasim far too many times.

The memories wouldn't stop.

He had so many lives... so many faces, all similar but never completely the same. All tied to him, but had lived their own existences across the spiraling web of realities. He could hear them all. Clawing at his mind, thrashing where their shard of his soul didnt fit.

Worst of all...

He couldn't feel or hear the Library at all.

It was silent, eerily silent after centuries of constant whispering, breathing, direction... its heartbeat had been his own for so long that the one in his chest felt forign. Yet he still could not feel it, even in the fits of lucid dreams.

Crowe shakily drew a breath, wincing at the burn of the motion before struggling to let it out again. He had been healing, at least some under Hyde's care. He had been able to assume his most human form (although in this reality's standard, he wasn't sure how human his inkstained claws really could be called. Or his twin teardrop facial markings.) And that had dulled the pain to a degree.

He let out a soft grunt of pain as he tries to move. He... he had to move. He had to help. He had to...

There was something... someone he needed to save...

The memories in his head tumble over eachother, drawing a wince over his pale features. He... he couldn't remember which face was the right one... there were so many...

Hyde knocks softly on the door, stepping in with a tray of nutritious oddities and things that Crowe barely touches- probably still getting accustomed to living again.

Hey..

He sets the tray of food down on a small desk, slowly crouching down to inspect the multiple bandages still wrapped rather losely around his chest. They were tighter before but the sensory overload got too great at one point or another

...Good. You're healing at least. As much as is possible

[schrodingerslibrary]

Those wild, blue-on-black eyes snap to Hyde, the cracks on his chest aching like a burning fire as he snaps one of his hands up a little to grasp his friend's back. Urgency bleeds from every part of his soul as he grips that arm.

"I. Cannot. Let. It have him."

It took crazy amounts of effort to get the unconscious Crowe in something like a stable condition, that broken chest oc his struggling with every breath. Many times he would gasp himself awake, his body so unused to living that it would stop functioning, only for the natural instinct of life to shock him back to breathing.

He would sob in pain for hours afterwards, gripping the sides of the makeshift bed he had been given as he tried to choke through the agony of living. His body was broken, his soul worse, he could feel every edge of the parts that didn't fit anymore, theedges scraping across his too real being and sending him coughing up bled Ectoplasim far too many times.

The memories wouldn't stop.

He had so many lives... so many faces, all similar but never completely the same. All tied to him, but had lived their own existences across the spiraling web of realities. He could hear them all. Clawing at his mind, thrashing where their shard of his soul didnt fit.

Worst of all...

He couldn't feel or hear the Library at all.

It was silent, eerily silent after centuries of constant whispering, breathing, direction... its heartbeat had been his own for so long that the one in his chest felt forign. Yet he still could not feel it, even in the fits of lucid dreams.

Crowe shakily drew a breath, wincing at the burn of the motion before struggling to let it out again. He had been healing, at least some under Hyde's care. He had been able to assume his most human form (although in this reality's standard, he wasn't sure how human his inkstained claws really could be called. Or his twin teardrop facial markings.) And that had dulled the pain to a degree.

He let out a soft grunt of pain as he tries to move. He... he had to move. He had to help. He had to...

There was something... someone he needed to save...

The memories in his head tumble over eachother, drawing a wince over his pale features. He... he couldn't remember which face was the right one... there were so many...

Hyde knocks softly on the door, stepping in with a tray of nutritious oddities and things that Crowe barely touches- probably still getting accustomed to living again.

Hey..

He sets the tray of food down on a small desk, slowly crouching down to inspect the multiple bandages still wrapped rather losely around his chest. They were tighter before but the sensory overload got too great at one point or another

...Good. You're healing at least. As much as is possible

[schrodingerslibrary]

No...

The pen falls from his clawed fingers as the horrible realization carves through his far too real body.

Jekyll was in the Library.

The Library had taken Jekyll... trying to turn him into what it had made him.

That horrid rasping breath keeps getting faster, his shaking hands coming up to grip his black and gray hair as he stares at nothing.

No... it... this was HIS burden to bear... it was never supposed to end like this... the pages weren't supposed to END HERE.

The ex-Librarian didn't notice he had been speaking aloud, his claws curling into his scalp, sending burning spikes of pain through his head. He couldn't care. Couldn't focus on it. It wasnt supposed to hurt anyway...

It took crazy amounts of effort to get the unconscious Crowe in something like a stable condition, that broken chest oc his struggling with every breath. Many times he would gasp himself awake, his body so unused to living that it would stop functioning, only for the natural instinct of life to shock him back to breathing.

He would sob in pain for hours afterwards, gripping the sides of the makeshift bed he had been given as he tried to choke through the agony of living. His body was broken, his soul worse, he could feel every edge of the parts that didn't fit anymore, theedges scraping across his too real being and sending him coughing up bled Ectoplasim far too many times.

The memories wouldn't stop.

He had so many lives... so many faces, all similar but never completely the same. All tied to him, but had lived their own existences across the spiraling web of realities. He could hear them all. Clawing at his mind, thrashing where their shard of his soul didnt fit.

Worst of all...

He couldn't feel or hear the Library at all.

It was silent, eerily silent after centuries of constant whispering, breathing, direction... its heartbeat had been his own for so long that the one in his chest felt forign. Yet he still could not feel it, even in the fits of lucid dreams.

Crowe shakily drew a breath, wincing at the burn of the motion before struggling to let it out again. He had been healing, at least some under Hyde's care. He had been able to assume his most human form (although in this reality's standard, he wasn't sure how human his inkstained claws really could be called. Or his twin teardrop facial markings.) And that had dulled the pain to a degree.

He let out a soft grunt of pain as he tries to move. He... he had to move. He had to help. He had to...

There was something... someone he needed to save...

The memories in his head tumble over eachother, drawing a wince over his pale features. He... he couldn't remember which face was the right one... there were so many...

Hyde knocks softly on the door, stepping in with a tray of nutritious oddities and things that Crowe barely touches- probably still getting accustomed to living again.

Hey..

He sets the tray of food down on a small desk, slowly crouching down to inspect the multiple bandages still wrapped rather losely around his chest. They were tighter before but the sensory overload got too great at one point or another

...Good. You're healing at least. As much as is possible

[schrodingerslibrary]

Crowe freezes, icy, burning dread seeping into his misfitting soul as he slowly turns to look at Hyde.

No...

He slowly shakes his head, that horrid feeling in his chest starting to beat painfully faster as the room goes cold.

"W-..what?"

He... he couldn't have been disoriented for that long... he COULDN'T have...

His black and blue eyes lock into Hyde's, begging silently for those words to be false.

It took crazy amounts of effort to get the unconscious Crowe in something like a stable condition, that broken chest oc his struggling with every breath. Many times he would gasp himself awake, his body so unused to living that it would stop functioning, only for the natural instinct of life to shock him back to breathing.

He would sob in pain for hours afterwards, gripping the sides of the makeshift bed he had been given as he tried to choke through the agony of living. His body was broken, his soul worse, he could feel every edge of the parts that didn't fit anymore, theedges scraping across his too real being and sending him coughing up bled Ectoplasim far too many times.

The memories wouldn't stop.

He had so many lives... so many faces, all similar but never completely the same. All tied to him, but had lived their own existences across the spiraling web of realities. He could hear them all. Clawing at his mind, thrashing where their shard of his soul didnt fit.

Worst of all...

He couldn't feel or hear the Library at all.

It was silent, eerily silent after centuries of constant whispering, breathing, direction... its heartbeat had been his own for so long that the one in his chest felt forign. Yet he still could not feel it, even in the fits of lucid dreams.

Crowe shakily drew a breath, wincing at the burn of the motion before struggling to let it out again. He had been healing, at least some under Hyde's care. He had been able to assume his most human form (although in this reality's standard, he wasn't sure how human his inkstained claws really could be called. Or his twin teardrop facial markings.) And that had dulled the pain to a degree.

He let out a soft grunt of pain as he tries to move. He... he had to move. He had to help. He had to...

There was something... someone he needed to save...

The memories in his head tumble over eachother, drawing a wince over his pale features. He... he couldn't remember which face was the right one... there were so many...

Hyde knocks softly on the door, stepping in with a tray of nutritious oddities and things that Crowe barely touches- probably still getting accustomed to living again.

Hey..

He sets the tray of food down on a small desk, slowly crouching down to inspect the multiple bandages still wrapped rather losely around his chest. They were tighter before but the sensory overload got too great at one point or another

...Good. You're healing at least. As much as is possible

[schrodingerslibrary]

Crowe snarls at him when Hyde tries to go for his pen, his claws locking in place as he bares his teeth at the pwrson he thought was his friend.

"S-STOP....let... let me go! I must... stop this!!"

He had to get to Jekyll before... before he learned the truth of their reality. Before he knew what all of them were...

Please... please this was supposed to be him... ONLY him...

It took crazy amounts of effort to get the unconscious Crowe in something like a stable condition, that broken chest oc his struggling with every breath. Many times he would gasp himself awake, his body so unused to living that it would stop functioning, only for the natural instinct of life to shock him back to breathing.

He would sob in pain for hours afterwards, gripping the sides of the makeshift bed he had been given as he tried to choke through the agony of living. His body was broken, his soul worse, he could feel every edge of the parts that didn't fit anymore, theedges scraping across his too real being and sending him coughing up bled Ectoplasim far too many times.

The memories wouldn't stop.

He had so many lives... so many faces, all similar but never completely the same. All tied to him, but had lived their own existences across the spiraling web of realities. He could hear them all. Clawing at his mind, thrashing where their shard of his soul didnt fit.

Worst of all...

He couldn't feel or hear the Library at all.

It was silent, eerily silent after centuries of constant whispering, breathing, direction... its heartbeat had been his own for so long that the one in his chest felt forign. Yet he still could not feel it, even in the fits of lucid dreams.

Crowe shakily drew a breath, wincing at the burn of the motion before struggling to let it out again. He had been healing, at least some under Hyde's care. He had been able to assume his most human form (although in this reality's standard, he wasn't sure how human his inkstained claws really could be called. Or his twin teardrop facial markings.) And that had dulled the pain to a degree.

He let out a soft grunt of pain as he tries to move. He... he had to move. He had to help. He had to...

There was something... someone he needed to save...

The memories in his head tumble over eachother, drawing a wince over his pale features. He... he couldn't remember which face was the right one... there were so many...

Hyde knocks softly on the door, stepping in with a tray of nutritious oddities and things that Crowe barely touches- probably still getting accustomed to living again.

Hey..

He sets the tray of food down on a small desk, slowly crouching down to inspect the multiple bandages still wrapped rather losely around his chest. They were tighter before but the sensory overload got too great at one point or another

...Good. You're healing at least. As much as is possible

[schrodingerslibrary]

Crowe could feel every breath as it starts to speed up, his grip on the pen getting painfully tight enough to stab into his hand.

"No....n-no... nononon-nonono..."

His movements are feverish and struggling as he fights to get up, every breath burning in his cracked chest as he fights his own body to try and move, stand, Corvids- run ANYTHING....

"I... I told him... I told him n-not to... I-it wasn't s-suposed to... supposed to be HIM..."

His friend... his ONLY friend...

It took crazy amounts of effort to get the unconscious Crowe in something like a stable condition, that broken chest oc his struggling with every breath. Many times he would gasp himself awake, his body so unused to living that it would stop functioning, only for the natural instinct of life to shock him back to breathing.

He would sob in pain for hours afterwards, gripping the sides of the makeshift bed he had been given as he tried to choke through the agony of living. His body was broken, his soul worse, he could feel every edge of the parts that didn't fit anymore, theedges scraping across his too real being and sending him coughing up bled Ectoplasim far too many times.

The memories wouldn't stop.

He had so many lives... so many faces, all similar but never completely the same. All tied to him, but had lived their own existences across the spiraling web of realities. He could hear them all. Clawing at his mind, thrashing where their shard of his soul didnt fit.

Worst of all...

He couldn't feel or hear the Library at all.

It was silent, eerily silent after centuries of constant whispering, breathing, direction... its heartbeat had been his own for so long that the one in his chest felt forign. Yet he still could not feel it, even in the fits of lucid dreams.

Crowe shakily drew a breath, wincing at the burn of the motion before struggling to let it out again. He had been healing, at least some under Hyde's care. He had been able to assume his most human form (although in this reality's standard, he wasn't sure how human his inkstained claws really could be called. Or his twin teardrop facial markings.) And that had dulled the pain to a degree.

He let out a soft grunt of pain as he tries to move. He... he had to move. He had to help. He had to...

There was something... someone he needed to save...

The memories in his head tumble over eachother, drawing a wince over his pale features. He... he couldn't remember which face was the right one... there were so many...

Hyde knocks softly on the door, stepping in with a tray of nutritious oddities and things that Crowe barely touches- probably still getting accustomed to living again.

Hey..

He sets the tray of food down on a small desk, slowly crouching down to inspect the multiple bandages still wrapped rather losely around his chest. They were tighter before but the sensory overload got too great at one point or another

...Good. You're healing at least. As much as is possible