Vittore remained on their hands and knees for a time, panting hard as they tried to regain some sense of composure. What in the world was all of that? Was it even real? They sat up a bit, leaning back on their heels, and put a hand to their chest. There, undeniably, was the feeling of leather and metal of simple armor, and when they slid their hand down toward their arm where their clothing was torn, they felt the softness of their flesh.
Definitely real, then.
They peeked through the hole in their sleeve and wanted to retch at the dark red signs burned into their skin. An intense feeling of panic and <i>wrongness</i> ripped through them, so powerful it was an almost physical sensation. They shouldn’t look. They should leave it alone. They should be afraid.
They clapped a hand over the tear and tried to breathe steadily. 
Slowly, they gained the presence of mind to look around at their surroundings. There were others around them, also gasping, also disoriented. There were two, a woman with a bird and a man with a scroll not otherwise engaged in conversation. “You,” they said, hating how raw their voice sounded. “Where…Who are you?”