I don't like this any more, Dad

"...think you can break me? You can't break me... I'm already broken!"

Alastor muttered softly to himself in the quiet of the cave he and his daughter had been isolated to for extended quarantine following their outbreak of strange, unexplainable symptoms. After he'd encountered the firefly entity again down by the lake, Alastor had noticed his beloved little Avacyn acting strange, complaining of itching beneath the scales on her forelegs and shoulders. Shortly after, those glowing mushrooms had sprouted between the scaly plates, panicking both he and his wife. Despite his and Manea's best efforts to help their little girl, removing the mushrooms proved to be impossible without causing terrible pain to her.

Not long after, Alastor heard Lurid's voice constantly over and over in his head, teasing him, taunting and mocking him. He'd tried to ignore it, drown it out with his thoughts, especially now that he knew it wasn't really Lurid. But the voice never left him. It had become a permanent occupant in his brain, whispering into his thoughts, trying to take control of his mind. Soon after, Alastor had felt a nosebleed start inexplicably—except the fluid that fell from his nostrils wasn't blood, but a viscous substance that glowed blue like everything else in the fucking world. Irilyth had tried to diagnose what was going on with them, but the best she could come up with was some sort of reaction to fungus exposure. Yeah, no shit! He could've guessed that and he didn't know the first thing about medicine!

As Avacyn's condition worsened—as did his—it was decided that he and his daughter would quarantine themselves together for a period of time until their symptoms vanished. Manea and Saracyn had thankfully remained healthy so far and he intended to keep it that way. He brought Ava and some supplies to one of the furthest caves. Neither ventured out. Irilyth would bring regular meals out to them and drop them by the entrance, but otherwise, they had no contact with the outside world. But the symptoms didn't seem to be going away. That glowing fluid continued to spill from his nose like blood, and every so often he'd feel it build up in his eyes like they were watering, but it was more of that glowing ooze. No amount of wiping it away helped, but he didn't know where it was coming from.

And the voices... gods above and below be damned, that fucking voice of Lurid in his head didn't stop fucking talking! It was all Alastor could do to keep from pounding his skull into the cave walls to shut her up. His brain felt like he had two wolves living inside of it, vying for control—himself and the phantom. Every day was a struggle and strain, but somehow he kept a hold of his fragmented mind, if only for his daughter's sake. He didn't want to worry her more than she already was. He was pacing back and forth near the mouth of the cave and muttering to himself, unable to sit still with this gnawing anxiousness inside of him. "Won't get me... They won't get me or my daughter... Kill all those fuckers if they come here... Eat their hearts and fuck their bodies..." Fangs bared as the violent and chaotic thoughts swirled in his unhinged brain.

On one turn, obsidian eyes glanced into the cave to spot the glowing form of his daughter, her marking shining bright, but also noting the glow of the mushrooms on her. His heart ached for her; he wanted so badly to heal her and make her better, but short of ripping each mushroom off which would cause her debilitating pain, Alastor was at a loss for ideas. Chewing on his lip, Alastor stopped his pacing and moved deeper into the cave, coming to settle on the furs beside his daughter and curl protectively around her tiny form. "How is my little star feeling today? Are you hungry, or thirsty? Can Daddy do anything for you, sweetheart?" he asked, smiling as if nothing was wrong, despite the glowing fluid still running from his nose like a constant nosebleed.

"Alastor Mendacium"