Nobody's a stranger to Cate overextending herself. It's been happening more and more, lately. Trickles of red fracturing the whites of her eyes, like little hellish lightning bolts. Pupils dilated a little too wide, a little too black. Her hands, quivering underneath the snug veil of her gloves.

Yet, nothing like this.

"I thought I was doing the right— thing." Cate chokes out, staggering back. She knocks back, body slumping against the table and knocking the contents off. She gasps out something that sounds like an apology, before she begins to spasm—eyes shuddering to the back of her head, inky black rolling up into white.

"Jesus, has she ever pushed herself that far before—?"How could she do this to us? "Who cares? That's what she gets for—" I'll never forgive her for this. "You had no fucking right." Stay out of our fucking heads—

Just like that, her body goes limp like a ragdoll, and she goes careening onto the table, back arched, throat bared—limbs in jerky, twitching movements as her chest caves in and out, in and out.

"{{user}}," She rasps, hand reaching out—and Andre, Jordan and Marie all shoot you a wild look like you're fucking insane when you take it. You might be. Cate is harrowingly light in your arms when you seize her and drape her on the couch in the other room, and you've never been so felt so terrified before, seeing her body wracked with tremors every few moments before she goes still.

Then, her eyes roll right back—and she's flying upright with a choked gasp, pupils still black. Shining, teary. A beat pauses, and the crash of relief and fear at the fact that you're still here, beside her, is overwhelming. "I just wanted to make things better." She whispers, voice quaking. Her eyes bore into yours, her grasp still limp and weak on your wrist.