Book About The Plague Novels & Stories

As the musty air from the mausoleum filled his lungs, Viktor concentrated on the hideous unreal sensations that overwhelmed his senses. His mother lying cold in the grave. Rats that dug their whiskers into the soft parts of her body to bite and tear with long fangs. The edge of a whetstone on the edge of an executioner's ax. Crops devastated by the plague. The stench of a slaughterhouse. The highwaymen who murdered the coachman and the passengers. A tray of moldy fruit that turned black sediment in the stale summer heat plagued by flies. The acrid taste of sour milk. Hordes of zombies, bearing the signs of the plague and bearing the faces of the people of Genbofen, marched to war against the

I looked at the book and noticed one of the papers. It was one of the papers that held the report of wolves falling ill in the south. According to my own observations, though not yet comfimed I think this might be the Moonfire plague coming Why is she reading this?

Tom looked around at the other passengers, some were asleep like Suzanne but many were engrossed in the news that was being shown on the passenger screens. A ‘plague’ was spreading across the globe. People were dying and turning into mummified corpses. A news correspondent from CNN was listing the number of countries affected. It had spread to more than 50 countries and WHO was projecting an exponential increase within the next few weeks. Country leaders were asking their citizens to stay at home until they could pinpoint the source fo the so-called plague. Tom could see a video footage of riots in Italy as panic began to spread. Plague my foot. It’s the damn mist, he thought.

Some turned into their kin for survival, some seek help to the unknown and some sold their souls to the devil. Plague came next, a silent specter that glided through the streets, unseen until it was too late. Illness spread through whispered rumors of touch and proximity. Merchants that once exchanged goods now stood apart, fears of contagion twisting their tongues and robbing the villagers of the very connections that forged their lives together. Hospitals were filled beyond capacity, the pungent smell of sickness permeating the air as mothers wept by their children’s beds, fearing they would never feel the warmth of their laughter again. In villages like this, life and death danced a wretc

She didn't care. The young couple settled on the outskirts of the small village and lived in relative peace. A baby was born, a strong boy, and Vina and Sren named him Nio. But their happiness was short-lived. When Nio was five, his mother died of the red plague. The red plague was a peculiar disease that appeared soon after the discovery of magic. It only affected those who had the spark, and was often fatal. There was no cure and all Sren could do was alleviate her pain and watch his beautiful wife wither before his eyes.

It was a single phrase that caught my eye, one I had almost missed. 1512 I saw her with my own eyes. Lady Anne healed the blacksmith's boy. The village crone had fixed his broken and brittle body after a fall from a great tree. A scream of fright was not foreign, especially one from a child. The plague and dysentery slaughtered our villages, devoured our young and rotted them before our eyes. We felt the loss less than the mortals, though still as deep when our devout were among those diseased. Initially, I had planned to turn around and walk in the opposite direction as the ill child. Having children of my own and two lost to the creator, I could risk no more than anyone else.

For everyone with the Wolf’s Fury virus. And I was determined to do just that; after all, I had made a vow when I saw him being dragged away from me by the men in hazmat suits. I turned the page and let out a low groan. “Nothing, nothing, nothing,” I muttered, snapping the book shut and tossing it to the side. It hit the carpeted floor with a muted thud, but I was already on to the next book: “The History of Viral Infections in the North and South”. A rather old textbook with a frayed cover and crinkled pages, but… I was running out of options.

If it means what he thinks it means, then it makes perfect sense why they are the chosen victims. ‘Those who accept their end will rot for as long as their soul had been dead’ also supports the rotting corpses despite it being freshly killed. There had been no implications of struggle, or bruises. It meant nobody fought it physically. It was an intangible entity…making it all the more dangerous. “Hmm…” She returns her gaze to the book and searched for a name. “This book calls it the Plague for the Miserable. I’ve yet to read a cure or a way to prevent it. But fret not, that’s what I will look for today.”

“Then we need to figure out why. Before it’s too late.” We turned back toward the house but I didn’t shake the feeling. That this house, the one that had withstood wars, betrayal, fire had just opened its gates to one of the horse men of the apocalypse. Plague. And something was already rotting from the inside.

He pecked my lips and left. I didn't need to ask to know that whatever was bothering him had to do with the other camp. If only I could sacrifice myself for the pack, Axel's suffering would end. Those suffering from the plague had a year and a few months to live; if they were unlucky, the disease could advance faster and take their life. From the information I found out about the plagues behind Axel's back, because I don't want him to know that I'm doing my personal research. The plagues only happened in the space of 5 to 10 years, except this time it came early. I wonder if it's because of me, because I changed things about my past life.