Working on new characters.
He ignored the healer, picking at the new blemish on his skin. There were more, plenty more. If he picked and picked forever there would still be more.
The healer sighed and left him. He sat in the bed that had become his cage and picked.
The cough rose in his chest like a fist tightening around his lungs. He felt it coming and braced, but even after so many fits, he was not prepared when it hit. It shook his whole small body. The child convulsed on the bed. The healers tried to hold him down but his body cast them off.
I’m going to die, he realized. I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to–