Unexpected Value of a Zombie
Zorvax settled himself on the gritty, broken ground in front of the dark cocoon that now enveloped Ophelia. His posture was one of vigilant rest—sitting, but ready to rise at a moment's notice. He drew his knees up, resting his arms upon them, his gaze never leaving the gently undulating shroud before him.
"My own evolution took a week," he mused aloud, though his voice was for himself alone, a murmur lost amidst the desolate stillness of their surroundings. "How long will yours take, I wonder?"
The cocoon—blacker than the darkest night—seemed to pulse with a life of its own. There was no telling what was happening inside, what changes Ophelia was undergoing, what new strength she would emerge with. Zorvax's experience had been intense, disorienting; he could only hope hers would be less so.