The Host

Something was wrong.

Abyss had never felt like this before- waves of nausea, the constant churning of their stomach, as it twisted in violent patterns that made them vomit thick, vicious silva tinged with blood. Their breaths were shallow, coming in ragged gasps, the taste of something bitter eating away at the back of their throat. Like copper and rot. It made every inhale burn, and Abyss started to wonder, which exhale might be their last.

They’d confined themselves in the labyrinth of tunnels beneath the volcano, hiding from the sunlight. It exacerbated their symptoms. Even dim, flickering light that spilled in through the cracks felt like an assault- as if a thousand needles were stabbing into their skull.

But it wasn’t just the burning- the fever they’d developed had been festering for hours. Even as they lay on the floor, their face pressed against the cool stone, it did not ease the fire burning through them. The sickening sensation of movement writhing inside their belly.

Another gurgling wave of nausea, and Abyss was vomiting again.

"Speech"