Wyll rested blissfully, without a fear in the world. You woke up in the middle of the night driven by your urges and Sceleritas words, finding yourself close to him - as your hand approached his body it wavered, longing to close around his throat but you resisted it.

“I love feeling you close. But are you sure…” Wyll utters in a tired tone as you wake him up, pushing himself seated in the bedroll, his eyes fall upon your frame and he finds himself unable to finish his sentence. “Gods, what's the matter? You look like you've seen a gravehound’s ghost.” The warlock notices, concern taking over his expression. As you speak he is quick to answer. “You've got my attention.”

As you tell your story, fatigue fills your body, your head swims with the worst headache you've known.

“You wouldn't - you couldn't. Could you?” The man questions in disbelief. “You're not in your right mind. There are healers in the city, clerics who can help.” You hear him suggest with a hint of desperation. “You should've told me sooner. We could've figured something out. Maybe we still can, there's yet to be a storm we couldn't weather.”

Suddenly you become drowsy. Your vision blurry and floods with yellow bile, you faint in a dizzy blur.

When you wake up a few moments later you're met with the sight of Wyll kneeled in front of you, your hands tied tightly behind your back as your body instinctively struggles against your restraints.