Infante

The first of the tendrils slithered into her mouth, like a long, wet tongue.  It was covered in hard growths, like warts, ulcers, or small horns, and each periodically stabbed and pricked, producing the spikes it would use to no doubt impale her spinal column and get near-permanent leverage in her throat.  They struck out at nerves, numbing and paralyzing when and where they made contact, un-numbing and freeing the part as they withdrew.  A wet member slithered into her nose, then scraped against her upper lip as the rest of the thing hauled itself deeper into her throat.

Her throat distended.  She couldn’t breathe.  It sucked at the air in her lungs and took it against her will, in one end, out the other.

It angled the spikes to better its grip, to ensure that any ground it gained going in and down was ground it didn’t give up.  It numbed and paralyzed to close the throat to coughs, to keep the gag reflex there but unsuccessful.

Lamb arc 18 III