Ill
/il/
Adjective
1. Not in full health; sick
“Do you ever just lay in bed and realize just how not okay you are.”

The plants in his room were teeming. Keir watched the bright green leaves and blooming flowers from his bed, barely able to lift his head. Despite being under a heating pad and a slew of blankets, he was shivering, probably because of the IV stuck in his arm. He wanted to feel warmth, particularly in the form of sunrays hitting his skin. Where was the sun anyway? It was so dark here.

His eyes moved away from his plants as his door opened. A woman walked into his room, his mother, he believed. Her eyes were puffy, like she’d been crying, but right now she had a shaky smile on her face and a bowl in her hand. She dipped her hand in the bowl as she approached, then smoothed her fingers over his forehead. He flinched at the cold liquid touched him, not understanding the incantation she whispered.

The effects were almost immediate though. He felt less cold, his thoughts were no longer hazy and jumbled. He could now remember collapsing in the greenhouse after doing a simple resurrection spell on a plant the night before. “How are you feeling?” His mom asked, her voice thick with unshed tears.

Something was really wrong.

“I’m okay, I guess, mom.” He sat up a little, ignoring how the room spun when he did. “What happened?”

“W-Well, it’s hard to explain, honey.” Her bottom lip quivered, “Your dad is on his way home. How about we wait until he gets home to explain?”

***

Keir was aware of his parent’s voices droning on and on, but at this point he wasn’t paying attention. His eyes were stuck on his simple green duvet, that was getting a little worn out, the stitches were fraying and the color fading, but it was his favorite one. It wouldn’t make any sense to buy a new one now anyway.

The dead didn’t need blankets.

It made sense now though, why he was getting sicker. Why he was physically getting weaker while his powers continued to grow stronger. A healer had seen him that morning, Keir could vaguely remember the woman’s face through the haze. She knew of a few cases similar to his, where a witch’s body wasn’t able to withstand their powers. It was usually seen in witches with human parents, but Keir had two supernatural parents. There was no explanation as to why, but his abilities were deteriorating his mind and body.

And there was nothing to do to stop it.

There were potions and enchantments he could take to temporarily block his powers, but they didn’t last long. She had theorized he had a month or two to live, at most.

He supposed he should feel scared at the imminent promise of death looming over him, but he didn’t. It hadn’t quite set in yet. Right now, the thought of death only made him think of Nyx. He hadn’t talked to the Necromancer in well over a week, but necromancy and death were pretty closely intertwined. Maybe he should pay the Erebus’s a visit.