[ Something suddenly presses against your mind. It is not someone reaching out to you with Communion, but not entirely unlike it either — perhaps more akin to the wake of a large ship tossing smaller boats around as it turns into larger and larger waves. After a few seconds, it starts to sting and burn, unpleasant but possibly familiar. Have you died before, whether at home or as a Shard-Bearer? Then you might recognize this feeling: the panicked terror of being cornered, of looking certain death in the eyes and knowing you have nowhere left to run. A horrible, piercing pain, like being stabbed, and the realization of failure.
And something more than that, too. A hand that is not yours touches the side of your chest to clutch at a small pouch that isn't there, with determined desperation and a deep sadness. The image of a young woman flashes through your mind, but this is not an imprint of whatever this unlucky person is facing down in this moment — this is who he's thinking of, who he's clutching at, as he dies. Big green eyes, hair the color of dandelions, and a warm trusting smile.
...and then, it's gone. The echo fades almost as quickly as it reached you, and your mind is still again, back to whatever baseline it was at before this imprint pressed in. ]
two days before Cyrus' assassination
And something more than that, too. A hand that is not yours touches the side of your chest to clutch at a small pouch that isn't there, with determined desperation and a deep sadness. The image of a young woman flashes through your mind, but this is not an imprint of whatever this unlucky person is facing down in this moment — this is who he's thinking of, who he's clutching at, as he dies. Big green eyes, hair the color of dandelions, and a warm trusting smile.
...and then, it's gone. The echo fades almost as quickly as it reached you, and your mind is still again, back to whatever baseline it was at before this imprint pressed in. ]