The Brittle Nature of Reflections and Dreams

Sirius jolted awake. His glass armor finished pieced itself back together and delivered a resuscitating burst of reviving electricity from its stored reserves.
Sirius, caught upside down, wiggled violently. He was disoriented, severely. Hanging–the rush of blood, the residual energy given off by his armor, the heat, the blunt force trauma–
Sirius fell unconscious. Chunks of glass fell from his body as he delved into a fever dream.
Rabid. Chaotic. Full of blood and death. Burning structures, rotting corpses.
Sirius jolted awake when the fever grew to such a burn his suit stepped in and flash froze him. A chandelier of a man hung from a collapsed stone ceiling. His ankle was caught in the rubble, and pieces of his quartz tumbled to dust below.
The glass left Sirius, but gradually raised his temperature in the process. A flight suit under the reflections remained, black and silky, traced rings of muscles.
Sirius returned to a world of dreams. Found peace in a reminder of his time before the–
Sirius jolted awake. He flailed and swung in such a violent nature, he managed to loosen his trap. He plopped to the ground. Stone, cold, wet, unknown. Then he noticed the lack of glass. Armor gone. Couldn’t grow more.
Sirius remained sunken in the ground for awhile. It helped the pain and allowed his body to heal. No movement. Let his natural healing take over–
Sirius fell asleep. And found a calming dream. As he found rest. As he found a tiny bit of shock to rebuild his glass.
One final dream before he woke up.

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