Emberwood the black hills, the bad lands, the calloused east

When Cortez vomited, Olive was only half-paying attention. It was as if she could see him, but she also saw right through him — her eyes stared, unseeingly. Against his wishes, she tried to take a step closer, but the movement threw her equilibrium for a loop and she swayed upon three legs for an interminable moment. Then all the strength left her and she fell to the earth, crumpled and barely-there, like a piece of tissue paper upon the bathroom floor. 

The impact jarred her body and she let out a small whimper, curling into herself pathetically as she was racked with another cramp, more pain — lying there, she did not stop her body from reacting with little twitches and pulses, barely holding on as the waves disoriented her. When it too had passed, she lay there, panting. Fresh blood spilled from her loins, but in the wake of her body’s attempt to tear itself apart, it was barely felt or noticed.

“Cort,” she bleated weakly, struggling to lift her head. “i — i don’t want to die…”