(no subject)

Steph's sure she should be sleeping.

Her head aches. Everything's - fuzzy. Blurry. Only not in her sight, she can see things fine, it's just everything else that seems warped. Things are out of shape. Her body is changing. She can't rely on herself any more - not even in the usual way of being sick, where her reactions are slowed and her muscles tighter, but ... she isn't sure if she even has two arms any more.

Since she was very young, Steph's trained herself to rely completely on what she's physically capable of doing. She can deal with illness, sometimes. She can't deal with this.

The pillow's damp, but she doesn't think she's crying. She's so hot. She's sweating like she's just sprinted thirty blocks in heavy armour. So hot, but she's freezing, and she's run out of - she didn't ask the witch's name, why didn't she? - run out of that potion ...

...but bed's so warm, or so cool, and comfortable. Steph rolls over, moaning slightly at the fever, and tries to sleep.

(no subject)

The room is a mess, because Steph's not exactly neat at the best of times, and this isn't what you'd call the best of times. She makes her way over to the bed and sits, looking awkward and blue.