[private] a dragon lives forever but not so little boys.

Light is, just about, ready to stop messing with the valium. He knows it's crippling, can't stand the effect it has on him - it's far worse than the usual shackles he drags behind him. Is it worse to randomly blow up at people, or to not care enough to?

It's so hard to think about it, just at present; too hard to think about anything. Visibly out of it, staring just a little, he's perched on the stairs between the fourth and fifth floor - exactly halfway up. Or down.

[[OOC: private to chilichoc.]]