The Magic Fever
The weight of the fever pressed down on Mikhailis like a heavy blanket, smothering his usual sharpness and leaving his body weak and trembling. His head throbbed with a dull, persistent ache, and his throat felt raw, each breath coming out as a strained whisper. The shivering didn't stop, even as he felt the heat radiating from his own skin, a confusing contrast that left him dazed and disoriented. His fingers twitched, curling slightly into the fabric of the blanket covering him.
Cerys was by his side, her usually stoic demeanor crumbling under the weight of her worry. Her hands trembled faintly as she dipped a cloth into a bowl of cool water, wringing it out before placing it gently on his forehead. The gesture was careful, deliberate, as though she feared hurting him further. She leaned in close, her green eyes clouded with concern.
"It's… just a fever," Mikhailis rasped, his voice barely audible. He forced a small, crooked grin.
"Nothing… to panic over."