[hr] [center][h1][color=007236]That Afternoon[/color][/h1][/center] [center]Zandoran Primary Medical Facility[/center] [hr] [indent]“Hello Camilla, my name is MP Mortem, how are you today?” Camilla was fine if not a little nervous, seated back in the examination chair in a light blue clinic gown. “I’m fine thanks,” she replied, faking a small smile, while her eyes looked over the many instruments on the Medical Practitioners bench. They were alone in the small medical bay, door closed for privacy. “The Sovereign informs me that you’re fine with proceeding with further examination today.” He said, taking a seat in a wheeled chair in front of her with a metallic clipping tool in hand. “I just want to make sure you’re still okay with this before we begin.” “I’m fine with it.” She confirmed, and inhaled with slight unease. She presents him with another, weak smile. He wheels closer, leaning over as he prepares to take a sample. “Just relax.” He grants her a smile of his own, “And let me know if you need me to stop at any time. Nothing I’m going to do will cause you any pain, but still want to make sure you’re comfortable.” “It’s fine. Do what you have to do. Whatever it takes to help. But haven’t you guys already examined me?” Mortem chuckles as he separates a few strands of her hair and raises the clipping devise to take a sample. “Indeed we did.” He tells her, as the device clamped down, “but after our recent findings, we thought maybe regular check-ups should be in order, at least for a while. You’re the intrigue of all our scient….” His voice trails off, his attention honing in on Camilla’s hair, which doesn’t seem to want to cooperate. “Is there a problem?” She asks, observing his curious expression. “I….” Mortem glanced at her, reverting his attention back to what should have been a minor task at hand. “Seems you’re hair has gained strength since your first examination.” It had only been a day since her first examination, and Camilla let out a little giggle, thinking he was joking, while Mortem furrowing his brow, squeezed on the scissored handles of the clippers, seriously trying to cut through her hair. “Maybe you need to sharpen the – “ She started to joke, only to be stopped when the clipper finally snapped through the few hair strands, causing her to lash out – striking Mortem in the face with her fist as she yelled out in pain! Mortem launched back in his seat, stunned for a moment with a hair sample in one hand and the clippers in the other. He looked dazed at her for a second and then asked in a dubious tone: “That hurt you?” “What the fuck did you do?” She spat out the words, running her fingers through her hair to try and sooth the pain, which was in fact instantly starting to subside. He looked down at the hair in his hands then shook his head at her with honesty. “I cut three strands of your hair, that’s all,” he said, lifting the strands for her to take a look, “It shouldn’t have caused you any pain.” Camilla was equally baffled. She was aware that cutting hair shouldn’t have caused pain, and since the pain was subsiding, she disfigured her face with a look of remorse. “I’m sorry for hitting you, Mr. Mortem.” With a sigh that ended in a light laugh, he turned to place the sample in a dish on the bench, and assured her; “It’s fine, really, just a little sting.” He turned back to her, clippers still in hand, maintaining a look of amusement. “Have you been feeling any different over the last day? Nausea? Headache? Anything worth mentioning?” She shook her head. “No. Nothing. I was fine until now.” They both had a little laugh together before Mortem wheeled himself closer again and lifted the small finger of her right hand. He queered skeptically. “Think we’re ready to take a nail sample now?” She smiled to politely agree, yet there was something wrong. As he took her finger in hand a feeling of dread overcame her. Her smile flattened, and for a moment Mortem thought he saw movement in the white of her eyes, like the eyeball itself rippled in a wave across its surface. “Uh, you sure about that?” He asked. “I don’t want to hurt you again. I sure don’t want to get punched again. You have a mean left hook.” She didn’t smile again, despite his jest. Her expression remained deadpan, eyes wide as she stared at him. The feeling of dread inside her was intensifying into something more, almost as if she could feel a knot of worms writhing in her bowels. Nevertheless, she ended up responding with a confirming nod. “Do it.” Hesitating for a moment, but then going against a new instinctual sensation that maybe he shouldn’t, he did anyway. Propping her finger, he drew the clippers in, covered her nail with his blade, then sharply clamped down. As he had suspected following the bout with her hair, the clipping devise had no effect on her fingernail. Muttering under his breath, his eyebrows furrowed once more as he applied more pressure. In his persistent effort to penetrate the nail he didn’t bother to look up and notice the menacing look overriding Camilla’s face. She was losing control of herself, literally. The more the man strained to cut through her fingernail, the stronger the writhing inside her became. Her dread was turning to rage. Her thoughts were becoming fragments, losing touch with her conscious mind. She blacked out. No longer aware of her actions, her eyes began to cloud over with a silver-like mist. Her breathing became heavy. Her lips peeled back. Nostrils flared. A deep, foreboding grumble escaped her as then Mortem noticed brown veins forming on her hand. He dropped the clippers and sat back sharply in his seat to see Camilla’s irises were no longer visible. Her eyes were entirely covered by a silver-like film. Her mouth was dropped open, lips stretched back and displaying layers of serrated, amethyst colored teeth, while segments of her body began to fade from existence like parts of her skin and flesh had started to dematerialize. Mortem gaped in stunned horror at what he was seeing, finding no will to react before Camilla let out a bloodcurdling scream and lunged at him – An instant later she had pinned Mortem to the floor, straddled to his chest as she pried the clippers from his hand and thrust them deep into his neck, gave them a sharp twist, and then cast them to the side as blood gushed from his jugular and flooded the floor. Camilla was laughing, clearly delighted by the sight of the man quickly dying. He was unable to speak, struggling for breath while frantically grasping at his neck in a futile effort to stop his bleeding. He was down to his last few tugs of spluttering breath when Camilla raised to her feet, gripped the base of his skull with both hands while pinning his torso to the floor with her feet and - with the sound of bones popping and moist tearing of flesh - proceeded to rip his head off. Gripping the man’s curly brown hair, she lifted his head to hover his face in front of her own, and while glaring into his empty stare with her big silver eyes, she spoke to him in a gentle and somehow soothing tone: “Essin corlin tehsmoleh…. Essin corlin tehsmoleh.”[/indent]