the infected

Her stoicism was commendable even though it was rooted in pure madness.

She held her truths in a jar and would selectively reveal each as though it was a prophecy.

She didn't know.

She never realized.

The infection was branching through her slow but sure in it's maniacal pursuit to consume everything within her.

Only as you stepped far, far away and peered from a corner might you have seen the angel inside that demon shell.

Unbeknownst to it's host the plague became a blood pandemic concealed with the most honorable intentions of survival and love.