Camilla
The taste hits me before the liquid even touches my throat. Bitter, sharp—like metal scraped raw across stone. My stomach lurches, and for one wild second, I think I might vomit it back up and ruin everything.
But I force it down, ignoring the searing burn that spreads like wildfire through my chest.
I don't feel anything at first, before I feel everything at once. Heat, cold, fire, rain, nausea, hunger, sickness, ache.
The witch shoves another vial between my hands, while forcing the powder into my mouth. "Drink this, quick! It's an antidote––it should help somehow! Maybe it will weaken the aconite, too!"
I do as I'm told, mixing the powder and liquid inside my mouth before I swallow it too. The taste is less disgusting than blood, but I have to make another effort to keep everything down.
When my body's struggle seemes ot have subsided, the witch lets out a small, strangled gasp, clutching her robes as if she's the one poisoned, not me.
