M O R G A N
It's been three weeks since Ravenna's evil wolf bit me, three weeks of realizing she even had a wolf, a very strong one at that and my wounds were nowhere near healing. It's been the wildest journey that even my werewolf genes couldn't do the impossible; fix something broken by canines and hate.
Because what she left behind wasn't just blood loss and torn muscle. It was venom. Rotting, cold venom that crawled through my skin like a second heartbeat, whispering of death and vengeance with every pulse. I had to fight her poison, not with magic, not with a healing potion, but with raw willpower.
Every. Single. Day.
I've fought for three weeks to keep the venom from reaching my heart, and the worst part is, it's working.
The poison is getting weaker, I can feel the burn of it
