CHILDREN OF THE STARS

04

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• • • ☾༺｡°. THURSDAY .° ｡༻☽ • • •
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01 • FEBRUARY • 1951

｡° ｡
HE
TOOK
ILL
ON
A
THURSDAY.
° ｡°

༺｡°. • Weariness followed Shadow around like a ghost since October, but today, he became the ghost.

It crawled up his spine inch by inch, day by day, but only now that he was barely standing on his shaking knees, did anyone notice.

☆★☆★☆

Maria knew that Shadow had been different since the night he kissed her hand and sparks (quite literally) flew. Everything was different now—he took her hand as often as he could, visited longer and came earlier, to name a few.

But he was also warm to the touch, dozing off beside her, breathing with the slightest difficulty.

"Are you all right?" she would ask him.

"Yes." And he would kiss her hand, tuck some hair behind her ear, smile.

But yes, as Maria would soon discover, was a small lie.

Difference came bit by bit, piece by piece—not noticeable at all—and now all the bits had come together, completing a picture that was absolutely noticeable and cause for alarm.

"Something's not right with him." The Professor stated the obvious, watching Shadow closely through the window.

Maria, beside him, clenched her hands into tight fists; so tight, her wrists burned.

Shadow's movements in the training area were stuttered, slow. Slow to move, quick to fall, even slower to get back up when sensei knocked him to the floor. He leant against the wall and his breathing—that awful, ragged, struggling sound—gave Maria violent chills.

"Oh no." It escaped in a whimper, unheard by the Professor.

Sensei stormed out of the training room immediately and began to shout the Professor in his native tongue. The Professor shouted right back.

Maria understood every foreign word, but she was not listening; her feet were running, taking her to Shadow as he fell to the floor again, gasping, groping—begging for breath.

"Shadow." Soft, gentle. "Come." Though she was the one coming to him.

He blinked at her from his place on the floor, unmoving. His eyes were strange, his breaths desperate; Shadow looked as if on the verge of vomiting and fainting.

"I cannot," he whispered; weary, slow. It took all his strength to speak, to breathe, to swallow. His eyes rolled as he tipped just teensiest bit backward and he reached for her to catch him, as if he was falling from a cliff.

Maria caught him, snatched his wrist, and he held her like a lifeline. He burned, he was aflame, he was absolutely scorching.

"Something is wrong." A small, sharp gasp: a stutter of the lungs and the tremble of the lips as he pinched his eyes shut. The beginning of tears. "So wrong."