***
The Noble Emissary had no real idea how much time had passed since his targets left the room through the hole in the wall. He tried to keep count with the beats of his heart, but they were so irregular and prone to just going silent for long stretches of time—almost to the point of no longer beating at all—so they couldn't be trusted for an estimate.
Then he tried simply counting, but that was practically impossible with the sheer strain the Formation was putting on him. Nothing worked as it should, and while he was sure he had the strength to break the Formation, he was kept down by the revulsion he felt. The longer he remained in the Formation, the more he began to believe he indeed deserved to suffer for ever finding blood enjoyable.
If he had spent so many centuries killing and bloodsucking with delight and impunity, he surely deserved to be punished like this…
