The pain Kieran felt could only be described as exquisite agony. He had never felt a pain so complete and pristine. Its only reason for existence was to show him its peerless ability to inspire despair.
The seconds crawled, the minutes dragged, and he writhed.
The pain was a crippling ordeal, so he remained frozen in place. His chest rose and fell in a broken, tragic rhythm. At times, he thought and believed death was upon him. No, he begged for it. Death seemed more tame and humane than the pain he was enduring.
Minutes had never felt longer in his life. Heat seared his veins, blades pierced his skin, bone, and muscle, and a mountainous influence weighed him down. Breathing became a dreadful task, invoking thoughts of peril.
A pregnant silence ensued as Agatha inspected the changes her engraving was bringing to bear unhurriedly.
"That's a decent amount of hurt if I've ever seen it."
