Serpent Lake go for the throat

as scarab slipped into a light sleep the fever rages on. each quake of his body brings a dual mixture of cold and hot and a sickening ache to his body, different from the ache of the bruises. not far enough in his rem cycle to actually dream he is stirred from uneasy slumber by a sharp and blunt voice. what is wrong with you? it asks. he shifts, lifting his head, blinking lapis lazuli eyes glassed with fever at the ebony shape. he half expected her to have eye sockets with coal glow. she does not speak with the voice of legion nor does she resemble the dead that visits him in his dreams. well, not entirely, he thinks.

she is certainly bony enough to be the ghoul of his dreams. staring her down, feeling what tiny figment of energy he's managed to recoup waning, scarab suddenly and fiercely wishes for maegi and erzulie. he should not've strayed so far knowing that he did not feel all that well to start. another violent shiver wracks the deathreaver's body as he realizes that he hasn't actually answered the demanding woman. i don't know. the plagued golden prince admits.

nanowrimo: 201