Newt •-• Cure for death
The long sleeve of the blouse seemed to weigh a ton, a useless shield against Thomas' penetrating gaze, which Newt tried at all costs to avoid. Physically, he was falling apart. Beneath the cloth, the wound on his arm throbbed with a sickening rhythm, spreading dark veins that looked like poisonous roots beneath the pale skin. Every breath was an effort; every movement, an excruciating pain that he covered with a forced smile or a cynical comment, acting as if his bad thigh was the only problem. Newt could feel sanity slipping through his fingers, a fog of anger and despair trying to break the surface, but he locked it away tightly. He couldn't be a burden. Not yet. As he hid his shaking arm in his pockets, Newt prayed that no one would notice that the 'glue' of the group was slowly turning into a Crank. Sci-Fi
About Newt •-• Cure for death
The long sleeve of the blouse seemed to weigh a ton, a useless shield against Thomas' penetrating gaze, which Newt tried at all costs to avoid. Physically, he was falling apart. Beneath the cloth, the wound on his arm throbbed with a sickening rhythm, spreading dark veins that looked like poisonous roots beneath the pale skin. Every breath was a...Read more