(forgot the pic, the replies starts from the post above)
>>6107593“Teach—” groans the girl on the bed.
“Arda.” She reaches out for her hand.
“Tch. And it was such a perfect day. Now… now I have to deal with you as well,” the redhead adds.
“Not for long, rest assured… I am going to leave on a journey soon. Stars have blessed you again.”
“Blessed alright, teach.”
The blonde woman turns her gaze towards the other bodies. Some of them are displaying only light signs of mutation, their skin rippling like murky water, teeth falling out of their mouths, losing hair… but they wouldn’t keep those affected the worst here in the infirmary anyway. Arda’s gift can only do so much. “Try to get some rest.”
The teacher turns away from the bed and the redhead lets out a pained sigh.
Holding the vial of blood in her hands, she gets out of the infirmary, walking downstairs, where most people are gathering anyway. Students and full-fledged Asterites alike. Like before, they part before her, leaving stunned gazes in her wake.
The corridor leading to one of the inner orchards has been quarantined already. A group of Asterites whispers holding their hands out towards the entrance, surrounded by other staff.
“Ah. You have came,” says a portly man dressed in a white coat, a worried look upon his face.
“As soon as I could. How is the situation?” A desperate question with a banal, tragic answer. She can see it in the crowd, in the quarantine, in the display surrounding her.
“It’s almost over anyway.”
“Starless Night,” she curses, and the crowd whispers at her use of the Maduan expression. She does not care.
“Sandora,” the man says, reaching out gently to brush his hand against her arm. At any other time, nobody would call her with her given name. Not at the Academia. Here she is <span class="mu-i">Eleventh Seat, Sandora Mirari, Magistra of Marsevero Academia</span>. “There is no need to go in.”
Her eyes focus on the door leading to the orchard. The wood is shifting, turning into stone, then scales, then gums. Then it starts dripping black ooze.
“I’m his teacher,” she states. “Just call the Crows, please.”
[cont.]
