[He was just letting these strangers drag him along, his mind consumed with images of men in cloaks, the glint of knives, and fire... burning, spreading, engulfing. Ciel only utters occasional gasps of panic.
Gasps of panic. He clutches at his chest, grasping at the material. He couldn't breathe well enough. His breaths were catching.
[In person]
Gasps of panic. He clutches at his chest, grasping at the material. He couldn't breathe well enough. His breaths were catching.
Wheeze, wheeze...]