Everie was six years old when she first got sick.

Infirmity was a death-sentence for anyone that lived in the wastes, where the planet itself cannibalized itself to keep itself afloat. It was a land devoid entirely of life, and filled with only gray sand and the ruins of ancient cities.

Everie’d heard once that, before the gods left, this entire world had been lush and full of green. But she doubted it; this world wasn’t that forgiving. You had to be strong to survive, and Everie couldn’t imagine that ever having been different.

Now, though, Everie felt weak. Her skin was chalk-white; even paler than her usual snow-colored pallor. Blood ran from her nose and had to be expunged from her throat in regular intervals. Harrowing pain constantly wracked her body.

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Her body warred with itself, devouring fat and tissue and bone- marrow, until the fever finally spread to her muscles.

That was when the cult doctor - a shaman, more like - left her for dead. That was when they all left her for dead. One of them even began preparing a casket for her.

Everie coughed, chest rattling. Her Sister reached out her hand, clasping it within hers. She was the only one that was left.

“You should leave,” Everie whispered. “I don’t want you to get sick too.”

Her sister smiled morosely at her. To Everie’s silent protest, leaned even closer. She gave her a kiss on the forehead.

“That doesn’t sound so bad. Not if it means I can help you go through this together.”

She drew back. “Now, shut up. I’m going to bring some towels, and you’re going to lie still while I try to get your fever down. Hell forbid you die while off-duty.

Everie shut up.