Sam quietly walked into the room, being careful to watch where he stepped. "I brought some burn cream that Oliver made for you," he said, settling beside me. He opened a rough stone jar and revealed a light green concoction that looked more like sludge than anything else. The smell coiled around me—spicy, bitter, and oddly reminiscent of damp earth and decaying leaves, with just a hint of mildew. It was far from inviting.
He dipped his fingers into the jar and yanked out a handful of the gooey slime, which stretched out just like those tubs of slime that kids adore.
"What exactly do you intend to do with that?" I asked, my eyes locked onto the disturbingly stretchy green slime he was gripping tightly in his hand. A surge of revulsion coursed through me as I struggled to wrap my mind around the utterly strange scene that was playing out right in front of me, all the while feeling a nagging sense of suspicion creeping in.
