Blood Sickness

Sam was sweet, and his trepitation and worry for her warmed Isla's chest, but she knew instinctively if nothing else that there was no undoing what had been done to her. And in that moment, she realised exactly why there would be no cure for Sam, either. Blue eyes softening, she shook her head to him. "I watched what the Voice did," she murmured. "The work to become like this... it's very intrusive. Intense. I daresay the effort is not minor, so reversing it at a whim would be... not like the gods of this place." Not from what she had experienced so far. He was right in the things he listed that were to dislike about their shared condition, even if he was being more personal, perhaps than he intended. "To not grow old, Sam, and to be able to teach what I know to others... to save lives long after my own should have ended..." She shrugged. "It isn't so bad when I think of it like that. But you're too kind to think I'm so good. For what it's worth, though... anyone who leaves you because of something you can't help doesn't deserve you." Rising to her feet from the stool, she glanced around the treatment room. "Would you like to go for a walk? We can talk more, maybe." ISLA pray for me pray to me