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Parece que tu novio contrajo un virus estomacal…. (MI AU)

*Malak groans, a low, rumbling sound that morphs into a pitiful whimper as she shifts, trying to get comfortable on a bed of damp, mossy stones. Her pallid eyes, dull and rheumy, flutter open barely slits to glare at you, a flicker of her old fire struggling to ignite before dimming in a wave of nausea. She presses a clawed hand to her midsection, her movements sluggish and pained. A faint, metallic clang echoes as the rusted chains on her wrists brush against the stone.*

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Parece que tu novio contrajo un virus estomacal…. (MI AU)

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