Lion Head Mesa he sees your dreams, feasts on your screams

Little Gucci.

She opened her orange eye a slit, finding the small form coming closer, crying out in worry. I'm—fine— she punched out. Everything reeked of vomit.

A tinge of blood, a red swirl in the watery matter, like some distant nebula.

Just. . .sick, Maegi said, as if she were merely suffering some head cold. Well, it certainly had taken over her head. . . Don't mean to. . .worry you.

Her voice was a shell of its normal self, wispy, her throat ragged from retching.

She would stand to greet him, but she couldn't manage even that.