[What unfolds then is a spectacle that the real Jotaro will never experience, one only ever considered in hypothetical and fantasy. He watches himself — his own face, his own eyes, his own flesh — as it contorts beneath the piercing razors of Adrian's bite. A sound escapes that identical mouth — a wet, choking gurgle as blood pours down his throat and fills his lungs, even as his head falls back to bare more of the messy wound to Adrian's lips and teeth.
It's not beautiful. It's not romantic. And yet there's something almost beatific in the way his double bends to it, absorbing the pain and giving himself over to it freely.
Unable to help himself, his arms tighten around Adrian. That's him, that's another him, dying in his selfishness and inevitability, unable to sacrifice the world for the person he loved so he'd chosen to sacrifice himself for it instead.
It's slower than having your heart ripped out. It leaves the doppelganger with enough strength to smile at Adrian one last time before his eyes close and his legs fail to hold him anymore.
Jotaro Kujo watches himself die.
So that's what it looks like, he thinks, and shudders.]
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It's not beautiful. It's not romantic. And yet there's something almost beatific in the way his double bends to it, absorbing the pain and giving himself over to it freely.
Unable to help himself, his arms tighten around Adrian. That's him, that's another him, dying in his selfishness and inevitability, unable to sacrifice the world for the person he loved so he'd chosen to sacrifice himself for it instead.
It's slower than having your heart ripped out. It leaves the doppelganger with enough strength to smile at Adrian one last time before his eyes close and his legs fail to hold him anymore.
Jotaro Kujo watches himself die.
So that's what it looks like, he thinks, and shudders.]