Earlier… The ashy color was spreading across the lengths of Ryleth’s forearms. The cracks were widening and black pus was weeping from them. These terrible changes were especially pronounced on her left arm. Ryleth’s breathing was labored and her lips were blanched of all color. Thalanil kept a steady stream of healing energy going into her, but all it did was blunt the pain. It did not stop the creep of death at all. She grasped his right hand with her left. Her skin felt leathery, dry, and her grip was impossibly strong. His own hand ached from it, because she held onto him so tightly. He did not protest. If his magic could do nothing to ease her then he’d give her the simple touch she needed. He would be her anchor in this sea of pain.

The undead in the room watched them out of blank eyes. They rocked back and forth, moaning softly every so often, but there was nothing in them that showed intelligence or feeling. Would Ryleth become like that?