[ Lottie has crawled her way out of the barn and into the frying pan, the disease hitting her tenfold and rendering her incapable of even enduring the simplest of tasks like walking. The feathers have littered her skin there the worst, the scarring fresh and still oozing blood amidst the hardening skin. She's cried, and cried, and cried, and has made it as far as resting outside of the barn she found refuge in for a few hours.
She can barely move, and can't feel her hand, and the worst part is she's conscious during all of it. Aware of every painful change to her body, aware of the way fear grips her so heavily when she tries to bend her fingers and she only hears a crack.
Lottie sobs loudly, her good hand gripping the fabric coating her legs. She looks up to the person nearest, and asks pathetically, ]
gen πΈ
She can barely move, and can't feel her hand, and the worst part is she's conscious during all of it. Aware of every painful change to her body, aware of the way fear grips her so heavily when she tries to bend her fingers and she only hears a crack.
Lottie sobs loudly, her good hand gripping the fabric coating her legs. She looks up to the person nearest, and asks pathetically, ]
A-am I going to die?