(That's not blood on the cover) !TW! Violence Rosy had been wandering around aimlessly most of the round. He didn't know what this was yet, other than that it was meant to be difficult. That difficulty hadn't begun to show yet, putting him on edge. The moth was alone, with no light to follow. At every noise that he didn't recognize he summoned his wand, returning it to the aether after a moment. Even if there had been anything, he wouldn't be able to defend himself. He was a healer, not a fighter. As he walked, he had that horrible feeling of being watched. He somehow still wasn't used to the pair of non-existent eyes always hovering over his shoulder, despite all these years of hiding. Rosy exhaled, waving away the eyes. He was getting too anxious. There was nothing to worry about. Nothing at all. Just then, he felt a horrible pain break through his short calmness. Black blood trickled from his mouth, a dark curved blade erupting out of his chest. So that was the danger. Just as soon as it had appeared, the blade removed itself from his body, letting him drop to his knees. He fell forward, holding himself up as best he could. A pool of darkness had formed below him, staining his hands. Gods, he was going to be sick... Just as he attempted to stand, he felt the blade come down again, this time on his neck. Rosy collapsed. He found himself in complete darkness, laying on his back. He felt numb everywhere but where he had been stabbed and sliced, which still stung slightly. Rosy sat up, looking down at himself. He was a glowing pure white form, leaving an afterimage as he waved his arm around. "Rosy." His head snapped up, looking around for the source of the sound. He opened his mouth to speak, but his voice didn't come out. He felt his neck, tracing a deep cut across it. "I wouldn't touch that. It could halt the healing process." Rosy lowered his hand. "You are dead. We're reviving you. Go back to sleep. When you wake up, you'll be good as new." Rosy didn't like how the voice was talking to him as if he wasn't important, but he didn't object. He lay back down, closing his eyes. Before he fell asleep, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Then he was out. (when someone likes your writing)
