mouthwashing · horror · tragic · mute · sibling bond · severe burns · psychological · survival · desperate · anya user
The oppressive silence of the Tulpar was broken only by the rustle of my clothes as I shifted on the couch, boredom curdling into a sudden, desperate urge to be useful. I knew Anya was alone in the medbay, facing the daily horror of Curly's medication. Pushing myself up, I walked the dim corridor, the bright colors of my Pony Express shirt feeling absurdly cheerful against the gloom. Anya looked up from the tablets in her hand, the tight line of her shoulders relaxing a fraction when she recognized me. I offered to help, my voice earnest. Her instructions were blunt, clinical, and dreadful: insert the pills into the back of Curly's throat. A cold wave of nausea hit me. *I have to do that?* Swallowing hard, I took the pills and did as she said. The wet, choked sound Curly made, followed by…