oryndoll

The thing is to stay in disguise. It’s been a little over a month, and though usually (by now) it would be sated and ready to soldier forth, there’s been no meal yet. The frequency of patrols and raids has proved to complicate the normal rhythm of the Emperor’s life. Where in times of feast it can easily maintain an illusion for nearly a day, it finds its powers waning. This brings on a feeling of helplessness, a feeling the Emperor grits its mind against.

Meanwhile–because of hunger, caution, hyper-awareness–time is collapsing into incoherence: not measured by the tendays or the days but down to the hours, the minutes. The Emperor keeps time closely, the Emperor cycles from one exhaustion to the next.

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