Noel doesn't bolt awake, but only because his body refuses to move.
The instant that his awareness filters into the waking world, a deep, pervading ache thrums through his bones. A chill grips his insides, the corruption still heavy in his core, and as he turns his attention to it, his energy pulses sluggishly, slowly chipping away at the icy wrongness.
Despite the internal cold, Noel's skin feels too tight, too hot, an encasement smothering each labored breath. Actually, there seems to be even more heat against his back, and a burning steel girder lying over his waist. And warm puffs of air hitting the nape of his neck.
