Liam Roberts is an (author) wrote in rooms, @ 2014-08-13 12:17:00 |
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Entry tags: | !marvel comics, *narrative, liam roberts |
Marvel: Liam
Who: Liam Roberts
What: Narrative after being dropped off at one of the quarantine centers
Where: One of the quarantine centers in the city
When: Recently
Warnings/Rating: Some dark imagery.
She was sitting there in the room with him, the private room (closet) they had found for him when he had been brought in with flushed cheeks and trembling limbs, a trail of shed feathers in his wake as he was left behind, dropped off, delivered into the hands that promised help but had few means to deliver. His bed was just a couple of blankets on the floor, a flat pillow beneath his head, but it was more than he would have been able to ask for. His skin was hot to the touch, the fever burning through him, sunken cheeks making his eyes larger than they normally were, pale blue ice that stared endlessly at the corner of the room.
She was there and she was smiling, white teeth and thin lips and eyes that followed his every movement. He found himself closing his eyes, hoping she'd be gone by the time that he opened them again, but she was always there, faithful in the way she tormented him without even taking a step towards him. Every so often, the world would black out, fading away without warning (shaking and trembling and kicking, muscles tensing and spasming) and when he came back, everything hurt. Everything was sore. And she was closer.
Sitting on the floor.
Watching him.
She didn't say his name, didn't torment him with words, but he swore he could feel her hands upon him. Fingers would sink right through his skin, bloodless and painless, but that wasn't the part that scared him. No, no, what scared him was when she'd spread his fingers and he could see it from beneath his skin, a hand pressing up out of him, stretching him, pulling him apart from the inside out.