So seldom, in fact, that she completely misses the first symptoms as they creep up on her, attributing her fading appetite and upset stomach to a bit of overwork, blaming her sleeplessness on the island’s muggy heat.
Its not until she wakes to a deep discomfort in her joints and the odd itchy hive dotting her skin does she finally realize something may be wrong. She feels the flush on her cheeks. Her stomach is still upset, and she wonders if she’d finally eaten something off enough to finally do her in.
She tries to work it off, but overheats too quickly and seeks the shade of the tree instead, curling up in the cool loam at it’s base as she sweats through her clothing and heaves as though she’d just run the whole way to Othard and the whole way home. It’s hard to draw in breath. She feels like she’s suffocating, she feels tight and sore, like something’s crawling under her skin and a thrill of fear jolts her back out into the sunlight as she scrambles to inspect herself for…
She begins to hack and wheeze then, her system overtaxed by illness and fear. She coughs and coughs, deep and low and phlegmy, coughs until she can feel something building in her throat that she can’t swallow back down and -
Red and violet splatter against the ground.
She only notices the former. Red. It’s Red not…
Perhaps a smile isn’t the right reaction to this, but Castor can’t help herself.]
[2]
[ Her coughing didn’t stop. The itching under her skin didn’t stop.
As the sun sets, Castor’s laid out on her side the beach, having sought a measure of comfort in the sight of the endless waters around the island. Every inch of her aches to simply lie here, but moving had become almost unbearably painful hours ago. Even her coughing has grown weak and she can’t help the odd whine of pain as more violet hyacinth petals and blood pool below her.
Across her back and shoulders, dark crimson roses have bloomed, some beginning to wind down her arms and tangling with the hyacinths that have begun to sprout along them in a pretty, if not macabre display. Her legs are likewise hobbled - bursts of red and purple at her knees dictating her resting place more than her own will had. She remembers, even in the haze of fever and pain, painting flowers on trees. Ren’s fear made sense now.
She wishes Emet-Selch had turned that gun on her, instead. ]
[3] [ Hit me up or BYOP. No zambies plz im baby ; 3; ]
Castor | OTA | CW: Blood, body horror, anxiety attack Very small Shadowbringers Spoilers in prompts
[ Castor is seldom ill.
So seldom, in fact, that she completely misses the first symptoms as they creep up on her, attributing her fading appetite and upset stomach to a bit of overwork, blaming her sleeplessness on the island’s muggy heat.
Its not until she wakes to a deep discomfort in her joints and the odd itchy hive dotting her skin does she finally realize something may be wrong. She feels the flush on her cheeks. Her stomach is still upset, and she wonders if she’d finally eaten something off enough to finally do her in.
She tries to work it off, but overheats too quickly and seeks the shade of the tree instead, curling up in the cool loam at it’s base as she sweats through her clothing and heaves as though she’d just run the whole way to Othard and the whole way home. It’s hard to draw in breath. She feels like she’s suffocating, she feels tight and sore, like something’s crawling under her skin and a thrill of fear jolts her back out into the sunlight as she scrambles to inspect herself for…
She begins to hack and wheeze then, her system overtaxed by illness and fear. She coughs and coughs, deep and low and phlegmy, coughs until she can feel something building in her throat that she can’t swallow back down and -
Red and violet splatter against the ground.
She only notices the former. Red. It’s Red not…
Perhaps a smile isn’t the right reaction to this, but Castor can’t help herself.]
[2]
[ Her coughing didn’t stop. The itching under her skin didn’t stop.
As the sun sets, Castor’s laid out on her side the beach, having sought a measure of comfort in the sight of the endless waters around the island. Every inch of her aches to simply lie here, but moving had become almost unbearably painful hours ago. Even her coughing has grown weak and she can’t help the odd whine of pain as more violet hyacinth petals and blood pool below her.
Across her back and shoulders, dark crimson roses have bloomed, some beginning to wind down her arms and tangling with the hyacinths that have begun to sprout along them in a pretty, if not macabre display. Her legs are likewise hobbled - bursts of red and purple at her knees dictating her resting place more than her own will had.
She remembers, even in the haze of fever and pain, painting flowers on trees. Ren’s fear made sense now.
She wishes Emet-Selch had turned that gun on her, instead. ]
[3]
[ Hit me up or BYOP. No zambies plz im baby ; 3; ]