Wapun Meadow victorian writer 2 steps away from dying of brain fever

There were two very new things about Aure: her eye was fucked, and she was spitting Trigedasleng like she'd been born kru. And he didn't know which to focus on first.

Instead, he addressed her remark, nodding. It sucked, he said--the absolute understatement of the century. He looked over at her. . .and couldn't ignore the new scarring on her face, fresh and bright. What happened, Aurëwen? Verx asked, voice even softer than he intended. He couldn't help but feel somewhat responsible, even if that was foolish.

And with one question came another, and this one came with a laugh. And who the fuck's been teaching you Trig? he added, smiling despite himself. He had to know, really. Who else could it be but Blodreina? It meant the two were close, at least--that Aure had a friend here.

For now, he'd focus on her. He still hadn't quite worked up the courage to tell her about Blackhead and Rusalka, all that had transpired. All he planned.