[the poison courses through their veins, a pain that wracks their whole body as they begin to choke on their own blood. darkness blots at their vision; they can hardly even see roxana, staring at them.
it doesn't take a genius to know that this poison is fatal. everything is on fire inside of them, contrasting against the ice left behind by the way their life slips away. the latter, at least, is a feeling they're used to. how many times have they died by this point, after all?
what is another death to them?
i'm sorry.
to meteion, to garou. to those watching this now, and whom clarte has hurt.
no subject
it doesn't take a genius to know that this poison is fatal. everything is on fire inside of them, contrasting against the ice left behind by the way their life slips away. the latter, at least, is a feeling they're used to. how many times have they died by this point, after all?
what is another death to them?
i'm sorry.
to meteion, to garou. to those watching this now, and whom clarte has hurt.
to roxana, because they could not save her.]