dead heroes

Aloys shook his newly healed hand as if the exercise might reset him. He trained his eyes on the floorboards, and he nodded weakly as she gave instruction. Her words were like raindrops, but his face betrayed a fear of thunder.

Yes, teacher. His soft voice was thick with the memory of his home. Her generousity and patience could only last so long - and what then? Who was he kidding. This was Solana Tinuvial, (He glanced at her morosely,) and he was lucky to live at the same time as her. She had a whole country to help reform. He steeled himself in this bitterness and resignation. Nothing he did or didn't do would matter, and after this brief lesson, he would fade back into rank and file, and eventually, disappear back into the circle of Elgar'nan's supporters.

Aloys closed his eyes, and once again, felt for the well of his magic. It felt deeper now, its surface buzzing and tangled like a wasps nest in a rumpled ball of string. His shoulders and arms tensed, and his head lowered as his brows shifted with disgust and dread. As he leaned closer toward it, his hand rose to hover over the apple. His fingers twitched eratically. The sensation of slime and the smell of sewage rushed over him as he pushed his feelings into it, and the tingling of wet warmth leaking all over and inside his body overcame him. He felt every surface of his body, inside and out: The glaze of his eyes, the sheen on his roped guts under a gurgling pod of acid, the marrow like rivermoss in his bones, and the fatty pearl of his brains enclosed in darkness, leaking their dampness - he vomited. His eyes shot open and he looked down at the stain on his pants. He quickly turned away from his teacher, the smell of his piss confirming what he had done. Shame rushed over him like a curtain fall.

Excuse moi. I'm unwell. I apologize. He was far too harried to notice that the apple had turned brown.

Note: probably good to dm me to chat about next scene if she doesn't chase. also.... lol.