He stood in the room, isolated/alone/transfigured/crucified - figuratively and naturally.
He breathed slowly - as a shallow grave, warm, new and strangely sensual - shallow graves could do that to you.
His heart fluttered, his eyelids flicked, his fingers trembled, his knees locked. The bright window began to rattle, the walls moved with anticipation, strobing and rippling with anticipation.
Ether flowed across the void, always across the void. Blood dripped, sweat percolated. Nothing touched him...all formed around him - like an antique frame, dripping with gold and arabesques.
He strangled a cry. No, not strangled, it was more like he wrapped that cry in confetti and flung it to the sky.
He scraped his hands along the low ceiling, scraped his hands and shot towards the stars.
It was over before it had begun. The room quietened, the ripples dissipated, the trembling ceased, and he was gone.