Lucian left Wendell to his perverted machinations, deciding to rather spend his newly found time focusing on a much more prominent issue, at least as he saw it. His mind, in and of itself, was a tad... torn. He felt odd, in a way he had never felt before.
So he began probing the spot where he felt the wrongness, the part that should have been his physical connection to his body. It was almost tender, like a swollen cut, or a broken limb. Softly, gently, he worked his proverbial fingers into the area, a great discomfort quickly taking hold of him. Still, he pushed forward, spurred by his own pain into action. He dug, felt what seemed to be a connection, a wire or a ligament. Mental tendons, if you will, dangling in the nothingness where he knew his own flesh and blood should have been. He grasped at these strings and frowned.
Then his jaw dropped. Twice. His frown had transferred to his catatonic body. So had his expression of surprise. His eyes were open. On the bed, his eyes, his face, they were animated. He dropped the mental strings and his face went slack, his shoulders limp, and he was catatonic again.
"What in the ever-loving-fuck...?" he swore, confused, afraid, and slightly distraught. But also curious. He quickly picked up the strings again and tried to move his arms. The discomfort in his mind sharpened and came to a rough head. He was forced to drop the strings, and again, he became limp again. Wendell still held up fine, and as far as he could tell, was uninterrupted, much less unharmed.
"Zira!...ZIRAAA!"
