>>5832903That did it. Izirina went quiet. With your pointed ear pressed to the door, you heard the shuffling of feet, and hitched breathing, and heard the muttering of charm-words to undo magical locks while more mundane, physical ones were unlatched. You took a step back to avoid tumbling in as she opened tehd door suddenly, and you opened your mouth to lord the moment over the girl…
But the words dried up and shriveled between your teeth, and you bit them back.
“W-well,” she said, breath hushed, “don’t just stand out there. Come in.”
You hurried to do so, and you shut the door behind yourself. With a wave of a wand, Izirina reasserted her barrier of spells and iron. She then cast aside the expensive implement like it was trash, into a pile of dog-eared spellbooks and unwashed robes, and fell upon the bed at the back of the room, burying herself in the blankets.
“Izzy… What happened to you?”
In contrast to her Testa-augmented appearance when you last saw her—all glossy lipstick and sparkling eyes, magical foundation smoothing out even the bumps and blemishes of late-stage puberty—Izirina Henzler was a mess. Her hair was long and frizzy, a mess of split-ends. Her eyes were baggy, her brownish skin had a grey pallor. And that skin…
It was splotched with scales. Patches of yellowish-green, raised scutes and bumps on her elbows and extremities, claw-like yellow nails, and paint-splotches of finer mosaic-scales around her throat and face. And her eyes… Her eyes were as they sometimes had been, in passing, thin-pupiled and dully-shiny like polished stone.
“Is it the plague?” you asked, unconscious beginning the gesture to attempt <Purification>, though of yourself or of her you weren’t yet sure.
Izzy looked away from you, and subtly shook her head.
“I ran out of oil,” she murmured. “And it’s not my birthday.”
“What?” you asked, not sure what part of that sentence confused you more.
Izirina nodded to her dressed, where a small, dark glass bottle sat. You approached it, picking it up, and found the thin residue of some slick secretion around the edge.
“With the… With everything that’s happening, the Archmage couldn’t acquire more for me yet,” Izzy explained sullenly. “It’s… It’s what I use. To look normal. Human.”
“So this… These scales…”
Izirina buried herself deeper in her den of pillows and blankets. You could imagine why. It wasn’t a flattering transition between mixed media, her skin, nor a gentle blending or happy medium. It was… Splotchy, rash-like, raw-looking, a mix of mismatched extremes, just like the ‘pox’ victims. But that this was her natural state… Well, if that got out, you could only imagine the inferences which would be made, and the consequences for both Henzler women. People would assume this new malady originated here, with her.
…Maybe, in some way, it had.
