Firestone Hot Springs epigram for wall street

backdated to 1/3 or so

while they waited, Avicus prowled.

until today.

she'd woke today with a tickle in her throat, and as she moved among the hot springs, that tickle had grown into some kind of monster.

a heaviness in her chest, like gravel. she coughs, sucking in the warm steam as she passes small pools, breathing deep despite the sulfur turning her stomach.

every fourth or fifth step is a cough, and she wonders—

what kind of sick fate would resign her to sickness upon the edge of war?