Gwen
Gwen sat against her pillows, a tube going under her nose to help her breathe, and needles coming out of her arms. She blinked a few times, her eyes half closed as she waited for Mordred.
Billy had called him yesterday, telling him that he needed to come to the hospital the next day, because Gwen needed to tell him something, and she wasn't up to it that day.
She realised that she wasn't even sure about how she was going to tell him. How was she meant to say `Hi, I'm dying, sorry I didn't tell you before'?
A hoarse, rasping cough rose in her chest and she felt her eyes water in pain.
She didn't want Mordred to see her like this. Helpless and sick, with no possible way of getting better. If the Apples of the Sun weren't working, then there was no living person who could fix her anymore.
She didn't want to die.
She didn't want to not see her children grow up, or be able to spend time with them. She didn't want to let everyone down, or want to leave with no way of coming back.
But she didn't want to live like this.
There was nothing that made it better. Medication was useless, and no matter how many blood tests they ran, Gwen knew that even if they could find the exact problem, there wouldn't be enough time to find a cure. Her time was running out. It was almost over.
And now she had to tell the one person who used to be able to make it all better...