A Heart so Cold

Isla dreamed that she was falling. Plummeting, oozing into the earth right into its molten core, until it all melted together dizzyingly into nothing. Inhaling sharply, she came to and felt the softness of a couch and pillow beneath her, instinctively relaxing into it but mostly because she didn't feel like she had the strength to do much else. Her limbs felt like lead - lead encased in silken comfort, if the sheet over her was anything to go by - and her head swam as she tried to bring the world into focus. Wood crackling merrily amongst a fire, and... food? Food and crockery of the likes that Isla hadn't seen since Northaven, perhaps. She frowned, thinking this still part of her dream... until Archebold's smooth voice rang across to her, and it all came rushing back. Her neck throbbed uncomfortably and her pulse quickened. Isla got an elbow beneath her and even got as far as levering herself upright before she was overcome by lightheadedness, slumping back against the couch. She couldn't help but feel a twinge of disgust at his comments, and while she didn't want to touch the food on offer let alone consume it, the medic in her knew it was for the best. "Is that what you told all your bloodbags, too?" she asked, her voice little more than a whisper as she bit into the pastry and took a sip of the wine. The last thing she expected was to hear him expand on a question she had long forgotten she had asked, Isla closing her eyes to listen to his voice as she took another sip of the wine. "That makes two of us, then," she murmured. "...May I go?" Isla the flesh is weak