Kyrie's body was unnaturally cold. A strange, intrusive cold infiltrated his bones down to the marrow, almost as if blood was freezing in his veins. His chest weakly went up and down, struggling to breathe. The ground below him was strangely soft like plumes, yet solid as the sturdiest rock.
His lips dry like the dunes of snow around him, like someone who hasn't drunk for many days in a row, desperately wanting to taste water to quench unbearable thirst. Even his stomach turned and thrashed inside his belly, peckish and in need of food desperately.
Heat and cold mixed in his body in a nauseous combination that brought weakness and frailty to his muscles. Slowly and weakly, the young man opened his eyes, his cheeks itched with numbness, arms almost unfeeling, paralyzed by something.
