The sound of metal clanking against metal rouses you to alertness and prompts a wave of panic as you barely manage to flicker your eyes open only to be greeted by a claustrophobic gloom constricting itself around you. While you can't technically choke to death as a vampire, your inability to be destroyed by conventional means only prolongs the physical and mental agony accompanying what feels like an eternity of suffocation. Unfortunately, this is the least of your issues. You can still feel the long wooden stake where it's parted your flesh and transfixed your heart, paralyzing you to the point where the smallest twitches require more energy than you care to expend. So this is how it feels to be "staked." An intolerable vulnerability coupled with pain in the form of a maddening itch that cannot be scratched. You know full well that the longer you're left like this, the more likely your unslaked Hunger will shut your body down—sliding into an inevitable torpor. But what was it that woke you up? Has someone come for you at last?
The constricting prison pulls free of your neck as the tie is loosened and raised over your head. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust, but when they do, you're surprised to see Lucca holding the black bag that had, until recently, played host to your head. You try to speak, but no words will come out. Your lips don't move. Ah, right—the stake.
"I'm going to remove it," Lucca says. She's watching you warily, nose wrinkled as if she's smelling something awful. You wonder if the stench is coming from you, but you can't so much as inhale properly to get a sense of your own stink. Your mind is wandering, easily distracted onto nonsensical tangents. "You hear me, Agad the Imperishable? I'm taking it out, but for a few minutes you're going to wish I didn't. Be on your best behavior." She must see some confirmation in your eyes, because she moves closer and raises her hand. "Whatever you do, don't try to move."
You'd nod in agreement, but motion is impossible. You're utterly at her mercy. You suppose it could be worse—Corliss could have been on the other side of that bag. Or a Sabbat planning to drain your vitae slowly through a thousand cuts…focus! You need to focus!
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