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[Fake-Winchester is blindingly sunny today, and Mel's eyes are strangely sensitive. She was sitting on the window seat trying to study the spell for going home, but she started to feel ill and dizzy, and it didn't stop until she pulled the curtains shut and moved well away from the window, to the bed. What the fuck is wrong with me? she thinks. She's been wondering that on and off for more than two weeks. She hasn't slept in so long that she's gone past tiredness into a kind of giddiness. She looks pale, and her skin's starting to feel chilled to the touch.
She doesn't even want to eat rare hamburger or beef jerky now, even though she's hungry.
She can't pretend any more that the futures room did it, and her symptoms started well before her disgreement with Mail, so it can't be that, though she still feels terrible about it... so terrible that chewing on her gloves isn't calming her anymore. She pulls them off and chews on a finger instead.
And that's when she realizes that her teeth have gotten sharper.
She stares at the blood trickling down her index finger, and unthinkingly licks it away. And that... that helps. It helps a lot, and makes her feel a little warmer and less hungry, and this is fucked-up, but she sits there, sucking on the little wound.]
She doesn't even want to eat rare hamburger or beef jerky now, even though she's hungry.
She can't pretend any more that the futures room did it, and her symptoms started well before her disgreement with Mail, so it can't be that, though she still feels terrible about it... so terrible that chewing on her gloves isn't calming her anymore. She pulls them off and chews on a finger instead.
And that's when she realizes that her teeth have gotten sharper.
She stares at the blood trickling down her index finger, and unthinkingly licks it away. And that... that helps. It helps a lot, and makes her feel a little warmer and less hungry, and this is fucked-up, but she sits there, sucking on the little wound.]
