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[sub]Mentions: [@TGM][/sub][/centre][hr]

[color=Silver]	A cold hand had struck his cheek. It was hard, amplified by the lingering phantom chill that stained his skin. He flinched sideways in accordance to the smack. And then he sat there, rather quietly. It was there, with a little vague familiarity to it, and he tried his best to put up and sit there, quietly as he could. The panic still flooded through. It was one question answered. He was real, and he then wished he wasn't.

	He put an inch's distance between them as he thought it indicative of a response. Franciszek found the words evermore difficult to spill from his lips and he froze up. The thoughts that ran through his head mostly consisted of the far-reaching span of questions and lacking answers. One answered simply pronounced eighteen more. Where? What? Why? How? If it were all real then how was she so sure of it? Did she know anything? He dared not to ask. There was no use asking anyone, it felt like, for with it came a lack of knowledge or sudden paranoia - much alike his. Some people had already soldiered on, leaving with a bop in their stride. They were loving it, he thought to himself, and honestly part of his resented it. Relishing in what he thought his own experience. He never quite knew if Victoria had experienced what he had, or perhaps he was simply so abhorrently weak that his insecure understanding had made him much of a laughing stock.

	He breathed. Calm - he called upon. It didn't work much, but he eased himself enough to hold his tongue and to not be erratic. Off to the side, Maive had started to bawl. Imogen denounced her own aggression so monstrously and, whilst Franciszek felt bad about it all, he most definitely felt that lingering degree of animosity - not for the crying girl in particular, but everyone. Sofia had brought him no sense of comfort or understanding. He was panicked. None of his thoughts were clear, and it was a matter of absorbing wonderland in order to remain any kind of level-headed over it.

	It hadn't really clicked with him how quiet he'd suddenly gone. He wanted to talk to prove that he could still provide something, valued or not, to the ever-growing dysphoria of reality. He looked down and shook his head. The volume of the ocean around them spoke to him again, in heeded warning. He shuddered. All again, so callous. He didn't feel himself at all, yet it had come to him so naturally.[/color]