i want him to feel genuine fear and i want him to suffer, i want him to be peeled from reality and into the abyss and know nothing for long enough to believe death is to be eternal torment where fragile sanity unravels in silence beyond silence while time, a cruel jester, stretches into an eternity of agonised mental disentigration. the somaticism of his own flesh will be a phantom limb, a distant, mocking ache.

only for him to be thrown back into a searing and incandescent baptism that leaves him all the more agonizingly, vividly alive
(affectionate)