The air on the ground floor of the Endless Tower smelled like cold dust and burnt charcoal.
Klaus sat on the edge of the dragged-in caravan mattress with his elbows resting heavily on his knees.
He ran a hand through the long, heavy silver strands of hair cascading over his broad shoulders, still mentally trying to adjust to the weight of his own skull.
Every time he moved his neck, the silver locks shifted against his back like a mantle made of cold silk.
'Should I cut all of this hair off?'
It was ridiculous.
A few hours ago, he had been coughing up dark blood onto the floorboards, his joints feeling like rusted iron hinges ready to snap under the weight of his own body.
Now, sitting here in the quiet aftermath of the Second King's execution, his muscles felt wound tight with an ocean of energy that didn't know what to do with itself.
He didn't feel any lingering aches from where Ryoki's rapier had pierced his shoulder.
Klaus just felt awake.
…Too awake.
