[It burns and it burns, edging closer to the center - to the place where his sense of self is stored]

[What remains of him is battered, now - diminished - worth less than it was when he awoke in this place fresh and new and eager. It's worth less, even, than the last time he did this, shattered but recovering, putting one foot in from of the next with every scrap of strength he had]

[What's left is smaller, now; that light at the center of him, bright and steady, has dimmed. It hasn't gone out, yet, but it takes him a long moment to find it - to think of a reason why it shouldn't just be washed away with all the rest]

[The reason is holding his hand right now; the pressure of her fingers against his palm is a reminder that there's something left he wanted to be here for, after all]