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[color=Silver]	The moment Sofia was scooped from their arms, and that Victor was sent across the beach in one fell swoop, Frankie froze up. He stopped where he had stumbled, and laid with his back to the sand. He watched as the girl was engulfed in the mouth of the beast. It was nothing short of horrifying, a true testament of the insanity in which he'd found himself in. His nerves were all too alive to render it a dream. He blinked. Time and time again. Wake up - wake up. He begged to himself yet no resolution came. There was chaos and there was anguish. He was sat in terrible silence. His eyes had plastered onto nothing in particular. It was all one, great, terrific scene. His breath slowed and his heart felt as though it had stopped. It was almost as if a feeling brewed inside of him, a warmth at the end of all terror.

	Yet nothing happened.

	He sat there, still. The feeling disappeared. It was a pitiful, slow and concerning reminder. An unknown, fanatic sensation that rose and died just as it had. Temptation, doused out by fear. Piercing regret. The lofted expectations. And when he had failed to act, to do more than squalor, one girl had stepped forward, and with a great shout she exhausted a wide-leaping spray of energy. And then came the spectre of the shore, the wild creature that combatted the very antagonist of their island escapade. There was some attempt to corral the crowd of sightseers, and to unify some team effort to allow the girl of light to truly shine. They did so, and they did so with confidence, with an unimaginable sense of initiative. But Franciszek was at his limit. He had his back to the earth, and his chest was plagued by rapid rising and falls. Whatever could he do? Whatever could he have ever done? He had done nothing, and had wafted away the fleeting burn in his heart, that desire to step forward and do something valuable. And unfortunately, and wordlessly, he isolated himself in his panicked state, and wandered helplessly back into paralysis. [/color]