bloodshot — ichor striation thread through the whites of his eyes; dilated and tired he is as he brings his palm up to cover his mouth. impending hiss through the whites of his teeth. "what the hell is that thing...?" upwrought with confusion, a familiar delination of fear. surely, he has to be imagining it.

she swings the knife at him again.

cohesion harbors hostility and the familiar persuasion of dodging has James moving before he can give the situation much more thought. he feels his back hit the wall and his body aches insipid from the ludic assault, unsteady legs striving to keep him from falling down. James turns his head just as she impales the knife into the wall inches away from him. he's overstimulated, his breathing heavier with each exhale. "shit.." he flinches. he's weak.

the monster lets out a deafening scream, a deliberate, incentivized sound— more terrifying than the last. abstract simplicity. he's sure that she can sense his anxiety, feel the trembling of damp skin as she digs her nails into his throat.