#{clvric}

Words had been their chosen weapons, deadly grenades that had been tossed back and forth as their mutually shared animosity grew, a loathing of presence that seemed to no longer exist when she had found him. Upon discovery, he was a shadow of his acerbic self, weak as a kitten and barely able to keep his head off of the floor he had fallen against.

Vaguely registering what happened next, he recalls hands reach for his arms, his shoulders, any part of this being that could be latched onto and dragged to a new destination, which in this case appeared to be propped up against a cabinet in the laboratory that he had been occupying by himself at the time. Working, on dregs of sleep, to hastily concoct a new remedy before he'd start to feel the waves of pain again.

But they came regardless, an agonising soreness that brought with it a further shift in spine as his size increased slightly, body sliding closer to that of an arachnid than that of a man on the verge of becoming something other.

"I have... no other choice." In spite of feeling his every nerve scream out in protest, Miguel's voice stayed remarkably level under the strain. It suggested that it wasn't his first brush with a bad day of simply existing, but it had still been a day. One of seven that comprised a week, that took up a month and more.

And with so much time ahead, one thing was for certain; this pain will return again. And again. And again.