there was a heaven in youbut god there's a devil in me
Days faded in and out. Nights were long and terrible, filled with pain and blood and wheezing breaths. He had hidden away when the symptoms had first racked his lungs, bloody spittle spraying from his mouth and nostrils after a romp with Sibyl in Tephra’s sea. Deep underground he had tucked himself away in the warmth of the volcano’s grotto, where Tangerine first noticed signs of his weakening body; where her soft lips whispered breaths of hope and encouragement into the frailness of his throat, urging him to remember his strength and resilience, but all the words in the world could not stop the disease from spreading through his blood.
Each day becomes worse than the next, and quickly the Overseer forgets all of his title and politics. He can feel the very life from him draining ever so slowly, each breath accompanied by blood and harsh, crinkling sounds of raw lungs and throat. It is when a fever hits and his consciousness slowly begins to ebb, that the stoic gaze of Marble peering down at him becomes the last thing he sees before drifting into a sleep that holds him for days.
Marble had left the grotto (Tangerine refused) and during that time Warrick’s eyes never opened. His daughter would return a few days later, bringing strangers into the familiar hearth with her.
It is because of these strangers that Warrick’s tired eyelids finally peel open.
The pain is still there - rampant and burning in his chest and organs, the disease gripping him tight - but whatever they had done had given him consciousness. As he blinks back the bleariness and tiredness in his oceanic eyes, he is suddenly brilliantly aware of the terrified and glassy gazes of both his daughter and lover as they stare upon him. He does his best to hide the growing seed of uncertainty that sits unbridled in his chest and offers them a weak smile as he attempts to shift his weight onto his barrel instead of his side, legs tucked beneath him.
“Tang - ” he begins, but his voice is cut off and met with a terrible cough, where blood speckles the warm stone beneath his mouth. The fit subsides and he inhales deeply, a sickening wheeze accompanying the large intake of breath. He closes his eyes momentarily, as if to compose himself, before opening them once again. He smiles weakly, despite the maroon-color that paints the navy of his muzzle. “We have visitors,” he finally says, addressing the unfamiliar women before him.
Each day becomes worse than the next, and quickly the Overseer forgets all of his title and politics. He can feel the very life from him draining ever so slowly, each breath accompanied by blood and harsh, crinkling sounds of raw lungs and throat. It is when a fever hits and his consciousness slowly begins to ebb, that the stoic gaze of Marble peering down at him becomes the last thing he sees before drifting into a sleep that holds him for days.
Marble had left the grotto (Tangerine refused) and during that time Warrick’s eyes never opened. His daughter would return a few days later, bringing strangers into the familiar hearth with her.
It is because of these strangers that Warrick’s tired eyelids finally peel open.
The pain is still there - rampant and burning in his chest and organs, the disease gripping him tight - but whatever they had done had given him consciousness. As he blinks back the bleariness and tiredness in his oceanic eyes, he is suddenly brilliantly aware of the terrified and glassy gazes of both his daughter and lover as they stare upon him. He does his best to hide the growing seed of uncertainty that sits unbridled in his chest and offers them a weak smile as he attempts to shift his weight onto his barrel instead of his side, legs tucked beneath him.
“Tang - ” he begins, but his voice is cut off and met with a terrible cough, where blood speckles the warm stone beneath his mouth. The fit subsides and he inhales deeply, a sickening wheeze accompanying the large intake of breath. He closes his eyes momentarily, as if to compose himself, before opening them once again. He smiles weakly, despite the maroon-color that paints the navy of his muzzle. “We have visitors,” he finally says, addressing the unfamiliar women before him.
WARRICK
@[Tangerine] @[laura] @[jenger]