heart game - Kantera

[wroughtandtempered]

I’m sorry. I tried— I tried, but I can’t keep going—

I don’t think I can do this alone, so— Please. Please—

I need help.

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[wroughtandtempered]

The fire licks gently at his hands, leaving only a soft feeling of warmth. You remember—

Immense pain at a distance, though as the adrenaline rush starts to wear off the burning sting of the lacerations you’re covered in starts to be harder and harder to disregard. You’re handling it, though— at least until Paracelsus approaches you, and asks if you’ll let him heal you.

…You say yes, of course. Less for yourself, and more out of respect for him— you know how real doctors work well enough to know that his desire to help is genuine.

It’s that same respect that leads you to reveal the secret of your venom, even though paranoia screams at you not to. It’s not like anyone’s going to want to take advantage of you here, and… maybe it would be useful. You’re no healer anymore, and you can’t use it much yourself without the taboo against it eating away at your soul and your sanity, but—

Paracelsus interrupts that train of thought.

“The cultists do seem to have a particular desire to prune certain behaviors,” he says, not unkindly— and your mind goes entirely blank except for the echo of his words.

” The cultists do seem to have a particular desire to prune certain behaviors.”

…they don’t want you to heal. They don’t— of course they don’t; you’re all here to hate each other. Fight each other. And you— you let them push you right into it. There are so many people here who gave them the finger, but you?

You played right into their hands.

You nearly choke on the realization, incandescent rage bubbling up in your throat as you show your teeth— but it’s not too late.

“…the cultists can get fucked,” you all but spit, and resolve to do better.