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Post by Plaisir Durante (R) on Jun 25, 2008 1:12:15 GMT -5
During one of my adept lunches, I’d chatted with a group of adepts from Heliotrope. One of the girls had been complaining of not feeling well and I’d sent her home with some soup and tea for later.
She’d sent me home with the plague. Or at least that was what they were calling it now.
I’d been in bed since that day, except for bouts of having to vomit so violently it felt as if my insides were trying to leave my body. My fever had run so high I’d been delirious for two days and couldn’t remember anything that actually happened those days. Then the rash had set in and I’d not wanted to remember anything for days.
The healers said I was on the mend now, but wanted a chirrugeon to see me. One came and examined me, making sounds and shaking her head. “Your heart has been damaged,” she said softly. “Mildly, but damaged nevertheless. It might be best if you were to move somewhere with more moderate climates.”
“What?” I asked, shocked at the idea of having to leave my home.
“The winters here may make your heart worse,” she explained. “You need somewhere without the cold.” I sat speechless. “That’s my advice; do with it as you will.” She left me some remedies and took her leave.
Leave Terre d’Ange? I wasn’t sure that dying wouldn’t have been better.
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Post by Plaisir Durante (R) on Jun 28, 2008 18:42:53 GMT -5
I had consulted with several other healers of various trainings and backgrounds and they all gave me the same advice. I needed to be somewhere the weather wouldn’t risk my heart. I also needed to be careful not to overly strain myself.
As if having to give up my entire life wasn’t a strain.
And so I began seeking someone to buy my restaurant and trying to decide where I would go to.
I was sure now, dying would have been better.
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