A harsh, bloody cough had made its home within Erik’s lungs. Blame the damp. Blame the fact it never got truly cold or dry here, so the boy always felt like he was stewing in his own wet breath. The damp made his condition worse, that of his sister as well. The adults had been whispering in languages they were pretty sure Erik couldn’t understand. Not quite a boy, not quite a man— Erik has always been a secret, worse, third thing. This is no different.
Black mood settling thickly around his shoulders, Erik doesn’t even try to fight it off. Instead he wanders from the Oaks and on into the woods. Brilliant orange gaze cutting through the trees, the sound of rain on the leaves enough to mask his footsteps.
The day was foggy and dreary. Erik finds it suitable, even if his throat ached. Same as always. Casting a long shadow through the dim light, the viking bastard was content to explore.
"Speech"
Warning: posts from this character often involve body horror.
Erik has a Norwegian forest cat that is assumed with him at all times.
