✦ ✧ ✦ numb. blind. deaf and closed from the world. it's as if she's drowning, sinking deep, dark, down. down into a bottomless pit until she doesn't know where up is, but it doesn't matter. here in the tightening, ever echoing fog, directions don't matter. her emotions can scream out into this void for no one to hear, not even herself, enraptured as she is by the numbness. it's almost comforting, the blankness of it all, muscles aching, wondering whether she is pulling up or pushing herself deeper. she sinks in her mind and out of it, water and ice, for her fire has vanished.
she doesn't feel cold anymore, doesn't wince at the stinging wind, and the singe of snow around her eyes. numb are her paws buried within the chilled frost, deaf are her ears to the howling breezes that snatch at her fur, and with eyes squeezed tight, she is newborn again, just her against the world. she is off in a land of nightmares, of fog and smoke, everything grey and dark. perhaps it is time she let the darkness overtake her, slide through her veins like ink from a pen. it feels right, almost natural in this hellish landscape. torture doesn't hurt anymore, scratches and bites are but a mystery to her, a timeless beast as herself. hell is dark, but so is she.
in a world of white, far above the down below, a great maple stretches towards the sky, creeping limbs ever heaven-bound, scraping a stormy expanse. at the roots, snow billows across the open space, sparkling and dense, though easily manipulated by the wind. a dark body curls tight in the frosty ground, half buried and shoved close to a stone that just barely peeks out of the snow. morning awakens the world in a muted, soft sunrise, pale pink only barely flaming the sky as it lightens. she opens her eyes with no wonder to the sparkle of winter, only bitter resignation as she pulls herself from the ground. her chest is tight, eyes heavy, and she can barely shake the snow off of her fur to stumble, half-awake towards camp. it's with a last look at the soaring maple, and a resonating cough that shadowclan's broken queen makes her way home.
several deep coughs later, and she's almost there, though she hasn't noticed the time pass at all. everything is fluid in her mind, everything is undone since this ending of her era. best friend, gone, mate, dead, children, scattering like leaves on the wind. is she so unimportant that the spirits don't care for her anymore? even as she slumbers every night beside the grave of the one ghost who's come to her time and time again? she shakes her pelt, dusting the last flakes off before she steps into camp, clearing her throat. it's scratchy this morning, dry and hard to swallow. her paws stumble only once as she reaches her den finally, and with a deep sigh, sorrelstar sits herself at the edge of warmth, facing out to watch her family awaken.
her eyes refuse to glance towards the medics' den, refuse to accept that if she looks now, no white pelt will greet her, no indigo eyes or tired smile. it's too fresh, too soon, gone with no goodbye. her eyes also skip the apprentices' den, for the one who holds the ghost of her son has gone too, off into a great unknown, with no word to her. everything hurts in her mind, and she coughs again, curling her tail tighter.
// whitecough time! feel free to let your character catch it as well.