#honestlines

Seymour hadn't slept that night, heat had wracked the half-breed's body, he had been shaking, too weak to send for help, but then, who would help him?

Lady Yuna and her Guardians had given him his own tent, claiming that because he was a Maester, he deserved privacy. But he knew it was because they didn't trust him, and this only proved it. But why? They had no reason, he had made sure his father's sphere had disappeared as soon as he heard of it, blaming it on 'cheap carry bags'. He had minded his words. He had done nothing to earn this suspicion from them, and yet, here he was.

The only way it could have been was if... The food Yuna had brought to him. Did she know of this? She must have. Was it her idea? Probably not. But she had been a part of it, and that knowledge gave him more pain than the poison ever could.

His insides felt as though they were on fire. As though knives coated in the fiercest fire magics were slicing at his gut. Whenever he tried to move, he promptly collapsed. He was glad no one was around to see this. Morning was coming, and the party would surely move on, leaving him to die. Or perhaps they would stay to taunt him?

He could imagine the young boy, Tidus, standing over him, laughing that obnoxious laugh of his. Auron, the stoic warrior giving the sliest of smirks. Wakka making some crude remark. And Yuna... Yuna would simply watch in silence. If anyone would feel guilt, it would be her, surely. And yet, she had given him the poisoned meal.