He could feel the warmth of her body, pressed close against him. Her fingertips traced light patterns across his skin, swirling from his neck, tracing down his collar bone. It sent trembles of electricity through him, pulling him slowly from the deep slumber he’d been in. She was whispering something to him, the cadence of her soft laughter underneath. Something about it made it sound so far away though, no matter how he strained to hear her. He fought to stay in that place, somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, missing the memory of her closeness.  ”Matthias” she spoke, a hushed whisper against his ear. The sound of his name, the heat of her breath, it jolted him from sleep. He expected to find the bed empty, but there she lay. A disfigured apparition, her face burned, her jaw exposed, an empty eye socket peering at him. The other side of her face, the one he still recognized, pulled back into an eerie smile. Blood pooled beneath her, spreading slowly through the sweat soaked sheets, warm and thick it reached out to him. "Amara," he whispered back, pulling the sheets fully back to find the bed hollow and empty.

He sat up abruptly, long limbs thrown over the edge of the bed. Pain lanced through his ribcage at the sudden movement, every muscle in his body feeling suddenly and exquisitely aflame. His right leg trembled, the once twisted and broken thing struggling even before he braced against it. He could feel sweat beading on his forehead, clinging to his long black hair. He tried to run his hands through it, feeling how warm and fevered his flesh felt. He couldn’t fight a sudden chill as the cool air touched his exposed skin. Reaching for the long black cane, his hand wrapping around the cool silver raven’s head, he took a steadying breath before using it to push himself up. He made his way awkwardly to the small dresser, wetting a cloth in the cold water basin he pressed it to his forehead, avoiding glancing into the mirror. He knew what he’d see, his skin pale and damp, his normally bright blue eyes even paler, almost white as the strange curse of an illness threatened to make today the day iit took him. It had been too long since he had gone to see the physician Ekosha or his bonded Persephone.

Finally daring to glance, he looked at his reflection. He found his eyes near solid white, his face drawn and pale, the hollow of his cheekbones and the dark shadows beneath his eyes giving him a frail appearance that did not match his towering frame. Shadows coiled around him, tracing their serpentine path, protective and shielding in this weaker state. He could hear spirits around him, reaching out to him, eager to be heard when he could not as easily fend them off. He closed his eyes to their voices, focusing on his breathing, steadying himself through the pain that felt as if every bone were shattering into pieces. There was no excuse today, he had to get to one of them. Ekosha was easier to find, normally about her clinic or gathering supplies in the wilds. There was no telling if Persephone would come, how much of his pain could she feel?

He pulled on the black shirt and vest first, trying to ignore how they clung to his damp skin. He ignored the racing beat of his heart as he pulled on the long breeches and the heavy black overcoat. He peered at himself in the mirror once more, finding the twisted face of his dead wife peering back at him, a corpse smile once more on her face. Closing his eyes, he turned, bracing himself on his cane and made his way out the door and towards the stables below the old boarding house.

A familiar black beast greeted him, eagerly seeking some source of food in his pocket. He pressed his forehead to the stallion’s own, whispering in a familiar tongue to the beast, offering the small bit of sugar he carried in his pocket. The pain was too great for him to haul the saddle over his back. Instead he slipped the lead rope free, managing to pull himself up with what strength remained to him and allowed the horse to move from the darkness on his own. He knew the road and destination well enough, seeming to understand even as Matthias slumped over his heavy neck.

Familiar darkness clouded at the edges of his vision, his lungs felt thick and heavy, a precursor to the cough that would suddenly rack his body. He managed to pull the handkerchief from his pocket to cover his mouth. It came away soaked in blood, the metallic tang coating his tongue.

He wasn’t sure how long it took them to arrive, but he recognized the door to her clinic when he opened his eyes, the beast unusually patient beneath him. Matthias slid from his back, stumbling to catch himself with the cane. He struck his right knee to the roadway, ignoring those that tried to reach out a helping hand with a vicious snarl. He made his way to the door, pushing his way inside. "Ekosha!" he managed to yell, his deep voice hoarse and choked with blood. Leaning heavily on the cane he continued into the building in search of the physician.

One hand braced on the cane, the other on the hallway wall, he pushed his way past other patients, not bothering with formalities. Most seemed to move out of the way, some murmured angrily beneath their breath that for the moment would have to go unanswered. Even hunched over as he was, the pain in his stomach practically ripping out his innards, he was still a hulking form. The darkness swam across his vision, blurring the hallway as he stumbled further down it. By now his shirt was practically soaked with the fever, clinging to his skin in a way that irked at his nerves. He heard the familiar hinges on her office door open, her sharp voice cutting through the crowd, ”Matt, what the hell-?!” She paused abruptly, obviously taking in his disheveled appearance. Normally he was poised, clean, well dressed. He did nothing to make himself appear weak, nothing that would give anyone reason to cross him. Even with the cane, he stood an imposing figure, still strong enough to back up that appearance. ”Matthias”, her voice held that tone of sympathy that instantly dug its way into his chest. A deeply rooted anger that screamed and raged at his weakness, at her pity, at his entire situation. Hs normally snapped, normally lashed out. She was the only one who’d found something that worked though. "Morning doc," he spoke through gritted teeth.

To come in as withered as he felt was a stab at his pride. He’d learned to begrudgingly allow the doc seeing him this way, but for so many in her clinic to see it, it did not settle well with him. He turned on those unfamiliar steps moving towards him down the hall, his temper flaring. ”No. Return to your tasks and then go home. No one is to come into my office for the remainder of the day.” He nearly sighed in relief, closing his eyes a moment listening to the retreating footsteps and the heavy fall of the front door. A blissful silence surrounded him, the only sounds that of his labored breathing and the soft footsteps of the doc. She pressed her smaller frame against him, trying to offer what support she could. Too weak to do anything but lean against her and his cane, he hobbled along leaning against her much smaller stature more than he would like to admit.

He made his way finally to a chair in her office, letting his body slump rather ungracefully to sit down. He could hear Ekosha shuffling around her desk a quick moment before returning. ”Here,” she handed him the familiar vial. ”Take this while I gather things for your fever - don’t move.” Without question, he swallowed the liquid, burning down his throat like acid. He hissed through gritted teeth, clenching his eyes to the pain, fingers kneading into his closed sockets as he braced his elbows on his knees. Already he could feel the sense of pain fading in his abdomen. He pulled the long overcoat off, suddenly cold as the air touched his damp shirt. ”I owe you again doc,” He pulled out a silk handkerchief, coughing up blood and clots into the white fabric, gagging on the antidote that seeped its poison into his blood.

He leaned onto his knees, spitting another bloody clot into the handkerchief. He could feel his breath come in ragged gasps, blood coating his airway thickly. The metallic taste familiar on his tongue. He worked to steady his breathing, letting the antidote begin its work to ease the symptoms. It twisted in his belly, already angry by the poison's intrusion. ”Yeah, well, that list might outlive you if you’re not careful. Here, put this on your forehead.” He smiled despite the pain lancing its way through him, taking the cool cloth from her hand he wiped the sweat from his brow. His skin felt cool and clammy already, but the cold touch seemed to settle something in him. ”Deep breaths,” she encouraged, feeling the cool metal ring press against his chest as she listened to the rattle of his lungs. ”You’re probably right,” he gritted through smiling teeth, more snarl then anything.

”I gave you enough meds to last while I was away. Are your symptoms worsening?” She never paused in her assessment, her fingers at his throat, feeling the steady racing pulse there. Her hands guided his head back, peering at the changing color of his eyes. The moon white slowly fading back into the normal ice like blue found there. He struggled to answer her, meeting her gaze so directly. He pulled his head free, sighing heavily. ”They are getting worse. I’ve had to take your antidote more and more often it seems like.” He remembered her warning, that this was not really an antidote, that it was still toxic to his body, just at a seemingly slower pace then his illness was. He wasn’t sure which was going to kill him first.

He sat rigid beneath her ministrations, the featherlight touch of her fingers against his neck, feeling the racing pulse there. He could feel the flutter of it in his chest, beating against the cage of his ribs with a fury. It made his breath come in hitching gulps at times, a conscious effort to make it appear more normal, to steady his nerves. Her antidote would slowly begin to lessen the rapid rate, his breathing coming steadier as it began to ebb. When she stood his eyes found her slender fingers pinching the bridge of her nose, eyes crinkled in thought, a familiar frustrated habit it seemed when he was around. He could almost feel the tug of a smile at his lips before she started moving around the office once more. ”We need another solution then,” she reached for the familiar clipboard, beginning her meticulous notes once more. How thick was the file she’d collected, he wondered silently, how many things had they tried? ”But what we also need is to figure out what the hell is wrong with you in the first place….”

”Where to start?” he murmured through a weak laugh, leaning to rest his elbows on his knees enough to take the damp cloth to the back of his neck. He watched as she tied her long hair back in yet another familiar habit, set in her determination. He could practically hear the cogs of her mind spinning through his symptoms and a variety of diagnoses. ”Have you had any other symptoms lately? Anything new?” He thought over the question, wondering how much he could tell her. He stared at his own large and scarred hand, flexing and unflexing it in a fist on his thigh. She knew about the shift of his eye color, the fever, fatigue, the horrible night sweats and the intense nausea he felt with it… but there was more, something that hinted to the supernatural side rather than any mortal illness he knew of. ”There is…” he swallowed hard, both pissed and annoyed at the admission, the feeling that he was letting some wall down for her to see the broken pieces underneath. Finally he sat back in the chair, watching her work. ”My shadows…” the dark band twisted around his wrist, summoned so much easier now with the poisonous antidote flowing in his veins. ”They seem harder to control when I feel the fever returning, like they have a will of their own, like I can’t control them anymore.” He sighed heavily, feeling the cooling touch of them move across his skin.

“You sure you didn’t get bit by anything or anyone for that matter?” To that he huffed a sly laugh, meeting the woman’s eyes again. ”Nothing has bitten me unless I’ve wanted it to, doc.” His breathing was growing steadier still, the rate slower, less labored. The fever as well seemed to be breaking, the air cold against his damp and heated flesh. ”You think it’s something supernatural?” His mind wandered over the possibility, if he’d called this on himself somehow. He thought of his bloodbond with Persephone, how the woman had saved his life so many years ago. How he’d used her magic to try and bring back the woman he’d loved so desperately, and how she haunted him for it now, stuck somewhere in between, ripping herself and him apart piece by piece.

He watched her flipping through the pages of her text, occasionally writing something down in her notes. She paid his dark humor no mind, only a brief glance that gave very little away to what the doctor was thinking. He let his gaze drop away from her, looking instead at the floor, each moment his symptoms subsiding until he felt the terrible fatigue and weariness begin to settle in that always occurred after the strange episodes. He felt it like a weight pressing down on his shoulders and chest, his eyes seemed to form a heavy glaze as they threatened to close. He forced himself to sit upright, taking in a deep breath and looking back over at the doctor. She was starting at him, one slender palm to her pale cheek, the depths of her gaze watching him closely. A chill went through him, more then just her power…
He brushed it away, watching as she came closer to sit beside him once more.

”Matt, it this is serious. There have been no improvements.” To that a familiar crooked smile would touch his lips, one long fingered hand moving to run through his long black hair. There could be no joking with her in this state, determined and focused on her task. Admittedly, it was something he admired about her. ”I don’t think there is a cure for this doc,” he spoke through a sigh, leaning back heavily on the chair. ”You have done more than enough by finding what can help me for now.” It was as close to a thank you as he could muster, and even those words left a foul taste in his mouth. He broke his eye contact, instead watching his shadow waver beneath him, shifting and curling into odd shapes around the room, around her own.

”No matter, I’ll figure something out,” The temperature dropped around them suddenly, a symptom he’d learned about her own frustrations. It cooled his overheated flesh, a small relieved sigh escaping him. Then her hand laid across his own. His body went rigid beneath the touch, feeling the cooling effect of her power. A balm against his feverdamp skin and more. A rise of something not altogether unforeign. He sat forward once more, his hand giving a featherlight squeeze to hers before shifting just out of reach. ”I appreciate what you’ve done. If anything else comes up I’ll let you know,” ’I’m sorry to be a burden’ the words hung on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t manage them. Couldn’t bear the limited expression he’d already given of himself.