Big Salmon Lake la vie en rose

why is this post sooooo bad  -___-

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Kitsch found she could not inhale nor exhale during her truncated examination – the breath had caught in her throat and, beneath her thin crop of pale fur, she could feel a bashful redness flush her cheeks.  Her polluted mind swam with thoughts like what will West think? and would she even care for a worthless thing such as she? and even will I die? but the questions were never uttered and thus, never answered, and before long, her nurse excused herself to acquire the necessary medicines. The Kitsch of another life might have joined the woman as she rooted through the surrounding areas to find poppy or willow or maybe the plant with white flowers, hoping to learn something of her craft – but the disabled lamb could do nothing more than listlessly lay her head upon the ground and soothe the throbbing of her body by surrendering a small sleep.
 
She was roused by the gentle touch of West, who carried several different herbs and plants in her mouth.  There was a urge for her to eat, and though the nausea that simmered in her gut protested greatly, Kitsch desired relief more than anything else. ”Okay,” the wastrel squeaked and pushed herself up onto her elbows, albeit with some effort, and took the herbs in mouth. The taste was as she expected – bitter, earthy, made for peasants and not her decadent tongue – but she managed to swallow them all the same.  ”w—what are they?” she questioned, only after the fact, unintentionally evincing the trust she already instilled in her guardian.
 
A chill racked her body and Kitsch lowered herself back to the ground, awaiting the foretold sleepiness of the drugs. ”I’m scared.” she murmured to the woman who stood above her, eyes verging on sudden tears . Her injured body would recover, so it seemed, and that corporeal relief made way for the injuries of her mind to take precedent.

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