is there any hope left?

It had taken a few days to stop vomiting the worms. No matter how many times she did vomit, it felt as if there was always one left. Wiggling beneath her skin, waiting for the right moment to terrify her. She couldn't get the image out of her head. That tawny wolf leaning over her arm, latching on before worms dropped from open lips as if the sky had opened up to rain. Eating was impossible, sleep was restless. Her mind was becoming deranged, paranoid. Everything around every corner was out to get her. Dark hollows formed beneath her heterochromatic eyes as she stared out across the expanse of stone.

At least here, on the steppe, she had a clear view of everything. No trees to hide in. No bushes to hide under. She could see anyone or anything coming for at least half a mile. Her companions kept their distance, too. The look of worry in their eyes was evident. Their movements hesitant as they offered her meals from a distance. Made her a small fire at night so that she would at least stay warm, huddled up against the cold stones. One fallen stone to her back, the open field in front of her. No one would be able to take her surprise this way.

The sun was beginning to set as her companions once more made a fire. Delphi shivered and then gagged. Every tremble of her skin convincing her mind that it was more worms growing, breeding, and thriving in her body. Fevers came and went. Sweat leaked from every pore as she panted, both nose and tongue dry. Weak, feeble, deteriorating. Was there any hope for her left?

"Delphi"