Tick, tick, tick.
The clock reminds me that I'm still in bed two days after going a few rounds with Lamashtu. According to Asclepius--or Pius--I should count myself lucky to be alive to whine and complain about not being allowed to get out of bed.
To make it worse, every time I get up to do anything, even go to the bathroom, the room spins round like a record, just to mock my helplessness. And then whatever shakes or soups I've managed to keep down come right back up, with a vengeance.
Apparently Lamashtu failed to destroy my soul, but she nuked my stomach in the process. I have what feels like the worst gastroenteritis ever. The healers are giving me all kinds of elixirs that you definitely can't find at your local drugstore, but they say that it takes time to heal from a demonic attack.
Other than a bout with COVID or the flu, I have never been this sick in my life.
