Mated To My Hated Enemy
Gathering what little strength I have left, I begin to walk around, my movements stiff and mechanical as I search for any herbs resembling those I've witnessed Beatrice use to treat my injuries.
After what feels like an eternity, I nearly explode with joy upon finally finding one. Sending up a silent prayer, I swiftly rub the herb against my palm, attempting to extract its healing juices. I press it firmly against the grievous wound but instantly regret the decision as an inexplicable, agonizing scream rips from my throat - the burning sensation excruciating. Fuck! I'm always out of it when treated; I didn't know the herbs sting so bad. I slowly lower myself to the ground, gritting my teeth
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