@witchofthedeepwood || Plotted
It feels like hot iron's filling her lungs. The crushing weight on her chest is unbearable, her sides cramping with the continuous force it took for her hack and wheeze - any desperate attempt she can make to get a breath in.
ah - it's been a while since it's been this bad.
She should have taken the hint this morning - to recognize that familiar pain in her joints to tell her that this illness was on the verge of rearing its ugly head again.
But Okita had never been one to listen to her body. Always pushing the limits of what was possible. Ignoring pain and exhaustion had always been the norm for her. ( Because anything was better than being alone with her thoughts).
Had she known it would have been this severe, though, she'd have chosen to stay in her room - as to not burden anyone else. Practically anywhere would have been a better pick than the often-used simulator - which someone was bound to notice she'd been using for far too long now without any progress.
"Ah...a.."
She can't even suck in enough breath to speak a comprehensive sentence. Her head barely wants to listen to her as it lifts up to approaching footsteps. It doesn't do her much good, anyway - her vision's too blurry to make out who it is.
"H...he...hel.."
One hand claws at the ground at the ground, attempting to bring herself forward, even in a crawl. The other grasps at her haori, now covered in blood and mucus.
Help me.
