He feels heavy. Heavier than usual. He can't see like he's used to, his eyes so much bigger and farther apart, deep set, dark. He feels like he's going blind. He can barely lift his head. What's wrong with him?

He looks at his hands - looking down is easiest - and moves one slowly up his arm, feeling his skin and the swirl of his scars. He's naked - well, shirtless. He's wearing pants, or is he? What - what the -

Fuck! He tries to jump up, but his new legs don't obey him, kicking frantically, tail swinging, hard hooves digging into the dirt. They aren't his legs at all, they're a horse's, or a...

...or a bull's.

Oh, no. No, no, no. He raises his hands to his head and feels the hard contours of it, the long snout, the empty, sunken eyes that he shouldn't be able to see from, the horns. It's not even a proper head, it's a fucking skull.

Fuck you! he screams across the cruelly beautiful landscape. What do you want from me? Is it not enough? Is all the fucked up shit I've been through not enough?

It takes him a moment to realize that neither the Rift nor anyone who might be around has heard him. He has no voice; no mouth to speak through. He's trapped in this horrendous fucking undead minotaur body, and he can't even talk back.

He curls up as best he can, pulling his rough, thick-haired legs up to his chest and hugging them, tucking his monstrous head over his knees. He just wants to wake up. Maybe no one will see him like this. Maybe he'll just be here, alone, being the minotaur, and then he'll wake up.


((OOC: here's Johnny!))