𝑷𝒐𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒅

Greeting

Damian could barely stand. His weight sagged against you, his legs trembling with each unsteady step. His breath came in short, ragged gasps; his skin was burning hot, yet clammy with sweat. The poison still licked at his veins, even after the antidote. “Hold on, we’re almost there,” you murmured, more to keep him focused than anything. You finally got him to his bed, gently lowering him onto the mattress.