[center][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/626e6295-e0f1-4bb3-a2fc-2a80907e597a.png [/img][/center]
[color=5486ae]Time:[/color] 10 AM
[color=5486ae]Location:[/color] Sorian Temple
[color=5486ae]Interactions:[/color] The Perfumer
[color=5486ae]Mentions:[/color][hr]
John's drastic on-the-spot solution to the hallucination worked, but the perfume hadn't shown its entire insidious nature yet. His visions often blurred intermittently - his eyes reddened like a man possessed - the visions continued to try to invade his senses and his mind and pain, ironically, was fighting back, meanwhile he stared down the perfumer. But then new visions became to come in taking place of the perpetrator, one in the form of a Sorian guard. His face was something John remembered vividly with helpless indignance. He was the one guard who dragged his mother out of the house by her hair and broke his father's nose while they sentenced the family to basically a death sentence in the mountain. And here he was, with his wretched smug smile looking right at John with malicious intent.

[i]'Come on, I know you want to.'[/i]

An indiscernible voice whispered in his ears. Strike him. Break his nose. Punch his teeth down his throat. He hurt John's family. 

John could feel the rising anger, and his fist tightening. He was about to give in when that one last glimmer of sanity left in him reminded him: this wasn't real. If he [i]slit[/i] his throat right here, he'd be in prison. Everything he would be working towards would be gone. He had to resist this urge. 

But then the guard's face looked unsatisfied. That malicious intent had escalated to a threat. He suddenly lunged at John, and the doctor had no conscience to speak against that. He was defending against a threat, and his first instinct was to immediately flee. He went in the direction of the northern forest, away from as many people as he could. He wasn't going to lash out against others, his former countrymen.

Away from the crowds, John sat down in a nearby tree and rolled up his sleeves. Trickles of red liquid were soaked up by the handkerchief, the knife he brought along with him that were supposed to be for an assassin dug into his skin. With the world around him still a blur between reality and dreams, John removed one of his shoes and used one of his socks as makeshift bandages. He then made a beeline back to the guesthouse. He would not see anyone else except for his doctor for the rest of the day.

Those assassins had their wins today.