Mordred looked up through bleary eyes, a long coughing fit following after punctuated by two mighty sneezes. Her teeth chattered although the room heater was definitely turned on. "I feel so crappy," Mordred admitted hoarsely. "I just want to lay here forever."
"I told you, Mordred," Arturia squeezed the water out of the towel, folding and placing it neatly on her son's forehead. "I told you," she repeated. "You just wouldn't listen and now you are burning up."
"It's not the rain, I'm sure I just-" a cough, "Haven't adapt to this body!" She quickly regretted the fact that she had yelled. Her throat got itchy as she balled herself under the thick layers of the blanket. "Oh God, I'm dying."
Arturia rolled her eyes. "You're fine, you just have a cold. Now drink up," she hunched forward with the medicine capsule and a glass of water on her hands.
"I said, I'm dying," Mordred whined.
"This isn't the plague. Now drink up."
The sick girl looked at the glass and her father back and forth, raising a brow in disbelief. "So cruel, Father," she pouted.
"I'm helping you to get better. Drink up."
"Ugh," Mordred groaned, taking the pill from Arturia. "But promise me to make a soup after this. I will sneeze on you if you don't."