Post by Medea Giovana Stone on Oct 20, 2018 22:15:54 GMT -5
Her throat burned, her head was heavy.
Moving took effort she didn't have, which meant she had to. No choice. Her head felt clearer than the day before, which meant she could move. She could clean, while not vomiting over herself, could make her way throughout. She'd gone through Sand, she could make it through this. She lived here as long as she was useful, and the moment she stopped being so, she would be killed. Medea had little pretty illusions about her fate. She would live as long as it amused Nott and his daughter, and once she wasn't, she would be another of Seraphina's pretty little experiments.
Better her than Jason, and his protector. She didn't know how her brother was doing with this, didn't know if he'd also been struck down. Panic bubbled-- what if he was, what if that made things hurt more, what if they came down on werewolves again, what if-- what if this killed people, and Jason's only protector died? More importantly, what if it killed him, or it made some twist in the genes kill him the next time he transformed, she needed to ask, she needed to see, she needed to make sure--
And the door blew open, swinging wildly. It wasn't supposed to go like that, there was no one there. She gave an odd sort of laugh, burying her face in her hands. Right now her priority was Jason, was the younger kids at the school, and it had been so long, she didn't know if they were still okay, if they were-- and a plastic mug she kept in her cell flung itself against the wall with enough force with to shatter. Wind-- there was wind, why was there so much wind built, and she couldn't-- what was happening, she'd never lost control of her magic before--
"Finite!" she grabbed the useless wand, swinging it desperately. It refused to move in her hand, it felt more dead than usual. She tried again, forcing what she could-- it was a wand still, it had to work somewhat, but it was still useless, dead in her hand. She thrust the wand away, letting it roll and clatter on the stone floor. The wind didn't cease, but. . .
It was coming out from her. It was surrounding her, whirling about. She-- what was this--
she swallowed, tried to breathe. The air moved with her as she walked, tried to shut the door. She would-- she couldn't hide this, she knew, but by hell or high water, she'd try her best.
Moving took effort she didn't have, which meant she had to. No choice. Her head felt clearer than the day before, which meant she could move. She could clean, while not vomiting over herself, could make her way throughout. She'd gone through Sand, she could make it through this. She lived here as long as she was useful, and the moment she stopped being so, she would be killed. Medea had little pretty illusions about her fate. She would live as long as it amused Nott and his daughter, and once she wasn't, she would be another of Seraphina's pretty little experiments.
Better her than Jason, and his protector. She didn't know how her brother was doing with this, didn't know if he'd also been struck down. Panic bubbled-- what if he was, what if that made things hurt more, what if they came down on werewolves again, what if-- what if this killed people, and Jason's only protector died? More importantly, what if it killed him, or it made some twist in the genes kill him the next time he transformed, she needed to ask, she needed to see, she needed to make sure--
And the door blew open, swinging wildly. It wasn't supposed to go like that, there was no one there. She gave an odd sort of laugh, burying her face in her hands. Right now her priority was Jason, was the younger kids at the school, and it had been so long, she didn't know if they were still okay, if they were-- and a plastic mug she kept in her cell flung itself against the wall with enough force with to shatter. Wind-- there was wind, why was there so much wind built, and she couldn't-- what was happening, she'd never lost control of her magic before--
"Finite!" she grabbed the useless wand, swinging it desperately. It refused to move in her hand, it felt more dead than usual. She tried again, forcing what she could-- it was a wand still, it had to work somewhat, but it was still useless, dead in her hand. She thrust the wand away, letting it roll and clatter on the stone floor. The wind didn't cease, but. . .
It was coming out from her. It was surrounding her, whirling about. She-- what was this--
she swallowed, tried to breathe. The air moved with her as she walked, tried to shut the door. She would-- she couldn't hide this, she knew, but by hell or high water, she'd try her best.
