doctor, doctor, will I die?

lily from what i’ve tasted of desire i hold with those who favor fire Looking at Pheobe with too-big eyes, Lily’s head begins to shake back and forth. It isn’t the needle itself, or the vial for her blood. It’s what it means to her 18th century mind. “But - but almost everyone who gets their blood let dies.” They are talking about two entirely different things, but fuck if Lily knows that. She’s just not willing to take that chance. Folding her arms across her chest, the redhead leans against a nearby surface. “Please just tell me, Phoebe. Yes, my hands have been trembling.” She snaps a bit but then recovers and steels herself for the news, whatever it is, knowing full well that she’s escaped something big for too long, now. If it wasn’t the pox it would have been the whore’s diseases eventually. The irony of it catching up to her here and now, when she’s no longer a card-carrying member of that trade isn’t lost on her. She just hopes she hasn’t passed it on.