(Untitled)

[lectorisalutem]

As he scribbled as a man possessed in his notebook, Gulliver's free hand ghosted over the skin of the liquid in his basin. The visions were slow in coming but almost impossible to commit to paper. How could he know which details would matter? Therefore, he tried to record everything he forefelt. His hand was cramping terribly, his eyes tired by the

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[sunsinge]

The lamp kept him walking. Every stumbling step he took it grew brighter, larger, until Amadius' wet hand gripped and slipped on the railing to the flat. The stairs had never been so steep, so many, but the lamp was close

[lectorisalutem]

He hardly flicked his glance upwards when Amadius entered the flat. The cloddish sound of his footsteps were nothing new to the adept's ears; no doubt his ward had drank too much this night. His reading suffered a bit, but it wasn't until he heard Amadius collapse that Gulliver turned his head.

"Medellos?" he asked. He didn't wait for an answer before he turned to see the fish-belly white body of Amadius laid out on his floor. As he scrambled out of his chair and to the brunette's side, confused more than he was worried (somehow, Amadius always managed to survive), Gulliver shook his charge by the shoulder gently, just to see that he wasn't drunk to the point of death.

As he noticed the blood pooling beneath Amadius, cutting off sharply where it dripped between the floorboards, Gulliver's grip on the other man's shoulder became much tighter. "What've you done?" he asked.

[sunsinge]

He blinked quickly, gaping up at the ceiling before he noticed Gulliver was speaking to him and turned his head. Good. Gulliver would set everything right... His eyes were wide and glassy, fogged from bloodloss, but they managed to focus on the Adept's face, and Amadius smiled weakly. "Nothing," he managed out. "This time- this time nothing." A sudden cramp in his stomach made him shudder lose his breath, and he wheezed for a moment before he was able to speak again. "They said I was- was cheating..."

Shakily, he took his hand from the wound and lifted his head to look at it. The blood was dark and wet, nearly black, and Amadius' head fell back heavily against the floorboards. "I- I think it, it will be alright," he breathed out, staring up at the ceiling. "I can barely feel it now..."

[lectorisalutem]

The wound dug into Amadius' back was too dire to inspect. More than likely, it was lethal. By his ward's pallor, it had been lethal an hour ago. Daring not to flip him onto his stomach so that he might inspect the laceration on his back, Gulliver shuddered.

With one touch, he knew Amadius had lost too much blood to be healed. Without a surplus on hand, Medellos would bleed out before he had donated enough to prepare for a proper healing. The adept went cold, totally unaware of what he should say to Amadius. He could be sympathetic or he could be frank.

"You'll die," he huffed, trying to keep his good posture as he spoke, "I can send your soul to meet the Prime Emanation," Gulliver shuddered, his hands clenching as he watched more blood leak from Amadius, "Or I can give you a meager death."

Why he had offered it- well, he did know. It was too much to see Amadius go so soon. He could preserve him, he could keep him... It wasn't so terrible. Gulliver, he believed, could save him.