The Phantom remained unconscious and unmoving for hours, his precious Siamese, who had fled underneath his piano, by his side. She nuzzled his head, lifting it off the floor slightly only for it to fall once she stopped. Unable to rouse him, she curled up beside his still body, licking his face with her rough pink tongue. The infamous Ghost stirred with a moan, his eyes flickering open after what seemed an eternity. As he did, he thanked every deity he knew of for finally ending his misery and tried to get up. Feeling chose, at that moment, to return to his bruised and battered body and shot through him. He became aware that his body was in far too much pain and far too weak to support his slight weight at all. Yet somehow he managed to drag himself from the main room to his bedroom and into the bed he had replaced his coffin with after Christine's arrival.
The former Living Corpse wanted nothing more than to lay his wasted, weary body down to rest for eternity. Never had he felt so tired or desired sleep so much; once he managed to drag the whole of his body into his bed, he remained panting from the effort. Ayesha leapt onto the bed and curled up flush against his body, how he wished he had the strength to stroke her fur. But the fact was pure and simple: he did not, he had no strength left in his body especially from dragging himself to his room. His breathing and heart slowing, he closed his eyes and drifted into a deep, serene slumber…