As Guts moves closer, the dog-god creature stays put, becoming a shadow behind him, a mantle over him. Guts. Griffith's eyes focus on him, trying not to glance at the thing behind his shoulder.
He puts the sword down, humiliated by how this looks. King Griffith the weak and raving.
"Madness or curse, this will lose me my castle if it continues." It's almost a cry for help, as much as Griffith can ask for help. He sheathes his sword and sets it by the side of the bed, trying to act unconcerned and untouchable, but he's shaken.
The thing behind Guts curls its claws around him, possessive, as if Guts belongs to it and not to Griffith. Guts doesn't seem to noticed.
Griffith sits down in the middle of the bed, back to the headboard, and curls his knees to his chest. He does not take his eyes off of Guts and the shadow.
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He puts the sword down, humiliated by how this looks. King Griffith the weak and raving.
"Madness or curse, this will lose me my castle if it continues." It's almost a cry for help, as much as Griffith can ask for help. He sheathes his sword and sets it by the side of the bed, trying to act unconcerned and untouchable, but he's shaken.
The thing behind Guts curls its claws around him, possessive, as if Guts belongs to it and not to Griffith. Guts doesn't seem to noticed.
Griffith sits down in the middle of the bed, back to the headboard, and curls his knees to his chest. He does not take his eyes off of Guts and the shadow.