you're the soul that understands;; open - illness

[wormwood.]

☆ HUNG PICTURES OF PATRON SAINTS UP ON MY WALL TO REMIND ME THAT I AM A FOOL. TELL ME WHERE I CAME FROM, WHAT I WILL ALWAYS BE: JUST A SPOILED LITTLE KID WHO WENT TO CATHOLIC SCHOOL —

Aurum had known of Alice's illness, but only on the most base of levels. It was almost impossible for him not to know, considering how often he found himself around Moth and Selby's house, offering his assistance and company to his sister and her children. He could still remember when he had first seen Alice, a certain sense of worry hitting him as he watched the way his sister had nosed at the girl, a deep anxiety shared between them, and no doubt Selby. The angel knew well what it was like to deal with someone sickly, having watched over Poetking for the majority of his life, and taken care of the other when things had gotten rough. Poet's illness had prevented him from doing a great many things, but even when they were at odds, Aurum had always thought his brother was stronger than he could ever know. Than anyone could ever know, really. Now, the tigon thought the same of Alice. He knew that her life would be difficult – probably more difficult than any of her siblings, save for maybe Simon – but he was sure that she would persevere, especially with parents like Moth and Selby around to guide her.

Unfortunately, he had also known that there would be moments like this. Moments where things crumbled, and where the sickness seemed as though it was winning. These were the bad moments. The ones that made it seem like perhaps one should just stop fighting altogether. The sound of Caustic's voice had been what had first drawn the proxy over, but then the words themselves had made his pace quicken, and his chest tighten. His worst fears were realized when he saw Alice on the ground, struggling for air. He looked at Caustic and gave him a desperate nod, as if begging him to continue on with his instructions, before he turned and took a few step towards town, roaring as loudly as he could manage, "MOTH! SELBY! Alice needs help!" His tone of voice was desperate, although it was hidden beneath a calm veneer, desperate to make sure Alice didn't panic and make things worse for herself. The tigon knew well that calling for his niece's parents was the only thing he could do for now, having never been great at the more medical aspects of providing support, and not wanting to crowd the girl.

[div style="text-align: right; text-transform: uppercase; text-shadow: 0px 0px 2px #722227; font-size: 24px;"][color=#c16f78]— AURUM

#psychosocial.