GEARWORK

Written on October 22, 2021 (♎︎)

Author's Notes: Written for Whumptober 2021 for prompt No. 15: Feed a Cold, Starve a Fever (Delerium, Fever Dreams).

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Mustadio sank into the palette upon which he'd been laid, imagining that he might fall through it and to a world of goosedown. At least that would be soft. His body and brain ached in a way that still carried some imprint of his metal assailant.

He tasted something bitter—smelled the vapors of tinctures and the spellwork. As the darkness of sleep began to take hold, he considered that they should open him up and find a mess of gears running cross-purposes to them, that there were mechanisms by which this sort of thing was always bound to happen.

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