[The heat of it burns her. The way she rages, and the way her body lights up to match. Camille comes out of it with a heady gasp, nearly pulling her hand loose.
Hot as a bandit's pistol. And still, cold as arctic ice within.]
...You'll die?
[She sounds like a four year old. A petulant question with an obvious answer, all things will die. It's the when that concerns her. The immediacy expected.
Her face folds with a new kind of misery. There's the shame and discontent of self-loathing, and then there's the fear for a friend.]
no subject
Hot as a bandit's pistol. And still, cold as arctic ice within.]
...You'll die?
[She sounds like a four year old. A petulant question with an obvious answer, all things will die. It's the when that concerns her. The immediacy expected.
Her face folds with a new kind of misery. There's the shame and discontent of self-loathing, and then there's the fear for a friend.]