"Hurt?"
Ianchus blinks, considering the words. Did it hurt?

"Not really, no. The altar is cold--ah, maybe if you're more bony getting up may hurt, but more than that, it's..."

Waking up after being reborn reminded him after the morning after a long party where he'd wake up, his body sore and his mind muddled with the dregs of sex and substance. Time seemed to have no meaning at those moments, and the light always seemed so strange. The glow after the afterglow. Just him and pillows with indentations of bodies and bruises all over his body. And while he woke up in a pristine condition on the altar, that feeling was still there...

"...Lonely, I suppose. Incredibly lonely."