[M] Oh Death, won't you spare me over 'til another year

Avi's near-death thread

POSTED: Sat May 06, 2017 4:07 am

WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It may contain very strong language, drug usage, graphic violence, or graphic sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.

Optime | May 8th | Avi's house
NPCs: Adrian Stormblade Inya Luna Spencer Garrett Eclipse Tyler Onyx

Might add to this later
Word Count → 721

It seemed like a funeral. Two Luperci stood around a bed, one in Optime and the other in Secui. Three foxes also sat around the bed. A cat and two birds, an owl and a corvid also were present. They all looked at the figure lying in the bed. She was skeletal, and looked so small. She was already tiny, being an undersized jackal even before the sickness. She wheezed as she breathed and coughed.

Avinalora pushed herself to her limit. And this is what she got. She had been fighting the sickness for so long, but alas, she succumbed. She was getting worse. Innya walked into, holding tea. She looked solemn. The vixen was a respected healer, and now there was a chance she might die.

The fox maiden was running a fever along with her lack of appetite. She wheezed and coughed, her tiny body being jolted every time. Adrian placed her hand on her sister's shoulder, steadying her. Stormblade rested his massive head on the bed, looking worriedly at the sick medic. The foxes were wide-eyed and scared. Even Spencer, whom was normally somewhat calm was scared. They lost their mothers when they were young, and would possibly be losing their second mother.

The gathering parted to allow the second Volac access to the fox maiden. She was weak, and barely conscious. "This will help alleviate your fever and help your breathing." The woman said, trying to explain to the healer. The waif could barely manage a nod. She seemed like she was about to speak, but instead only coughed.

"Let me help you sit up." Adrian said. She was better now, along with everyone else. She gently helped to pro her sister up, feeling her bony skeleton. The frost-furred jackal barely was eating. She was weak and her hands shook as she held the cup. The Dasa helped to drink it.


Avinalora was only starting to get better as everyone else was already was better. She was still weak, but her strength was starting to come back along with her appetite. She did seem a bit different now. But, she was getting better. She was coherent now, her mind was back.

Stormblade padded into the ghostly jackal's bedroom to see Luna reading a book. The foxling liked reading and didn't mind reading out loud for her guardian. The scene slowly brought a smile to the beast's face. But, then he realized that the scene was not how it would have been. The jackal was not engaged as she normally was. She was sitting back and didn't exactly seemed to be listening, only the flicking of her ears said that she was paying attention. That worried him.


Avinalora knew that trusting people, letting them into her life was what got her into this mess. She almost died, and people died from the illness that plagued them. And she was the cause, no matter what anyone said, she was the one who brought Elva into Anathema, And she would carry that burden for the rest of her life.

The fox-tailed fae had also been too emotionally involved. She cared for each of her patients too much and that was what tore her heart. She was too soft, and that was what caused her so much harm. She had devoted herself to Midnight Shores and it fell. She trusted someone too much and she lost her eye. She pitied someone so much that she brought them to her pack and probably brought the illness to Anathema.

The icy medic wouldn't make that mistake ever again. Distancing herself was the answer. Feeling for her patients got her into this, and now she would patch herself up by not feeling anymore. She was a good actor. She could do this. Distancing herself was good, thought that meant that not really feeling at all. Though, rudeness would be a bit better. Sometimes, being nice was boring.


The lame leg-well the lamer leg- was permanent, though. The moon-washed maiden leaned heavily on her cane as she walked now. Her face was set into a colder look. She had her last barrier against feelings. Sarcasm. It was another layer to protect herself. Her heart had been torn way too often in the last moons. And now she had to keep herself together and her stitches.

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Somebody make me feel alive
The queen of a wretched design
I walk through the fire

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