Valen | The Lighthouse Duet (recondeur) wrote in madisonvalley, @ 2013-09-16 23:28:00 |
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Entry tags: | !open, ~~!35 points, ~~michael carpenter (amoracchius), ~~valen (recondeur) |
Who: Valen & Open
What: Giving into his disease
Where: St. Michael’s. --> the hospital
When: Monday night into Tuesday morning
Warnings | Status: Mentions of drug abuse | complete
A knot burned in Valen’s gut, a dark little coal ignited like fire in his very flesh, and a stark warning of the attack to come. It burned steadily throughout the day though he’d distracted himself with the mundane, tried to ignore it. Gods, he didn’t need it.. It wasn’t supposed to happen so soon. Twenty-one days had passed, where before twenty-eight had always come and gone before he turned to perversion to cure this damnable disease.
A spasm ripped across his back and Valen bit into the pillow under his face, thrashing while the throbbing cramps spread through his shoulders and slowly took over his body, piece by piece. The coal in his gut took flame and spread rapidly through his chest, and over his limbs, to his head and straight into his eyes. He squeezed them shut, uttered a curse or ten into the pillows and pushed himself up from the flimsy cot given to him as a place to bed.
His tongue felt dry and stuck in his throat, and the light of the lamp above seared his eyes, blinding him, the sound of his own feet hitting the floor as he swung around on the cot sounded like a stampede through the room to his ears, and the threadbare shirt scalded his skin like razor blades.
Gods!
He pulled the shirt off and staggered to painful feet, slamming into the door and wall and reached for the switch that doused the rushlights. They burned into him but the blessed darkness was a welcome relief. He sank to the floor, heavily, naked and exposed. The wind roared, bellowing its presence outside his window.
Gods you fool, ignore it. You’ve been abed for too long is what this is.
Valen dragged himself toward the tiny table that counted as a bedside storage and in a rush of fury, threw it aside much to his pitiable regret. The resulting crash into the wall was thunder in his ears and he cursed his misery, driving himself down to the bed where he clung like a child to a drowning father.
There was no nivat. There was no cure from this cursed sickness and he howled his desperation into the depths of his pillows as a spasm rippled through every sinew of his back, and down his limbs so that every interacting muscle cramped as if the Karish god himself were playing with his ligaments and innards.
Valen groaned aloud, as hope took flame, belief failed and the misery of truth of what was to come settled over his mind with bleakness. And amidst it all a dark and incurable craving burned.
Hold, hold. Why had it come so soon? Great Kemen, Lord of the Sky. Mother Samele, and whatever gods and goddesses exist give me salvation.