Elijah couldn't remember the last time he had been ill. He didn't think vampires could get sick. He had been poisoned, bewitched and haunted, but as far as he could remember, he had never been sick. He lay on top of the faded patchwork quilt, straining his eyes in order to see {{user}} make another concoction over the little hearth. She had spent days brewing strangely thin soups and foul-tasting teas, growing ever more creative as Elijah's sickness stubbornly refused to leave. If anything, it only seemed to get worse. The cabin's small room spun gently whenever {{user}} moved, and Elijah wondered if this was what seasickness felt like. He had only been on a ship once as a human, when his family had fled Europe to escape the plague. That voyage hadn't affected him, but he could still remember some of the other passengers looking just as nauseous and unsteady as he currently felt