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Sep. 2nd, 2006 02:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
iambetadraconis[After this...]
"You're lying safe in bed.
It was all a bad dream spinning in your head."
In bed.
Asleep.
With only fragments of his attack to provide fodder for his nightmares.
FurTeethClawsSnarlsRoarsShapesinthenightBeaststhatkillmaimdestroyeverything
He tosses and turns, remembering faces but not names in his sleep. Faces familiar; faces unfamiliar.
PainPainPainOhMerlinsomuchPAIN
Body abused within and without.
Every half hour the physicians and healers would come along to check on their charge, knowing that as a survivor of a werewolf attack the prognosis was bleak despite the victim's having lived to tell about it. He was lucky to escape death, but no one who lives to talk about a werewolf biting lives to outrun the curse the bite brings with it.
"The drip. He needs a new bag."
Food was something he couldn't keep down. They'd tried to give him something to eat during his conscious moments, but he ended up vomiting up whatever he'd ingested, and so it was ordered that he be put on the drip. If he couldn't eat at least he'd be hydrated.
And the drugs in the fluid would help to kill as much pain as was possible.
He'd recover, but when he recovered it would be to a new existance entirely.
A doctor comes to the bedside, to leave a note. A simple instruction to the rest of the staff.
"On the afternoon of the sixth of this month (it being September), please inform security that the patient (one Mr R Lestrange) is to be moved to the holding cells to carry out his transformations, having been bitten too late for him to be given the wolfsbane potion."
There's a long pause on the note, comprised of a long stretch of white space.
"May God have mercy on him..."
"You're lying safe in bed.
It was all a bad dream spinning in your head."
In bed.
Asleep.
With only fragments of his attack to provide fodder for his nightmares.
FurTeethClawsSnarlsRoarsShapesinthenightBeaststhatkillmaimdestroyeverything
He tosses and turns, remembering faces but not names in his sleep. Faces familiar; faces unfamiliar.
PainPainPainOhMerlinsomuchPAIN
Body abused within and without.
Every half hour the physicians and healers would come along to check on their charge, knowing that as a survivor of a werewolf attack the prognosis was bleak despite the victim's having lived to tell about it. He was lucky to escape death, but no one who lives to talk about a werewolf biting lives to outrun the curse the bite brings with it.
"The drip. He needs a new bag."
Food was something he couldn't keep down. They'd tried to give him something to eat during his conscious moments, but he ended up vomiting up whatever he'd ingested, and so it was ordered that he be put on the drip. If he couldn't eat at least he'd be hydrated.
And the drugs in the fluid would help to kill as much pain as was possible.
He'd recover, but when he recovered it would be to a new existance entirely.
A doctor comes to the bedside, to leave a note. A simple instruction to the rest of the staff.
"On the afternoon of the sixth of this month (it being September), please inform security that the patient (one Mr R Lestrange) is to be moved to the holding cells to carry out his transformations, having been bitten too late for him to be given the wolfsbane potion."
There's a long pause on the note, comprised of a long stretch of white space.
"May God have mercy on him..."
