Petal's POV

The sickness had returned.

It started quietly, like all terrible things do a single cough echoing through the healer’s hut, a faint fever here, a chill there. By nightfall, the moans grew louder, and the scent of rot and fear filled the air.

I worked through the night, crushing herbs until my palms blistered, forcing bitter mixtures down trembling throats. But the herbs weren’t working anymore. I’d used the last of the potent ones days ago. What remained were dry stems and ...