<Minor spoilers for pt.1 character personalities and fate>
Description: A century is a long time with nothing but your self.
---Very messy, and unedited. Basically something I thought up on the spot at 1am. Don't expect anything good.
The coffin is cold and damp and dark.
Dio likes the dark. But he doesn't like this. The cold numbs his fingers and that's worse than it sound. He can feel them, but he can't. The sensation of pain is there in a way he can't quite describe. It hurts and it doesn't.
Jonathan is a gross fit.
Who thought this was a good idea?
He did, of course he did. Who else? There's no one else in the world—the coffin—the world is his.
The world, the coffin, the world,
yes, it's been his and only his for a while now hasn't it?
Of course it has.
THE WORLD OWES HIM.
It was the world that did this, wasn't it?
Memory comes and goes. They fade and they don't.
Jonathan doesn't fade.
Sometimes he's there, with his stupid
And sometimes it's just Dio. And that's the worst by far, he thinks. (He isn't sure, though.)
He wants to stop thinking.
DIO, DIO, I, DIO? Stop thinking?