My skin had been smoldered by the heat of day, sweat sticking my bare back down on the inappropriate sheet I had chosen to lay myself on, sprawled on the uncomfortable wooden porch my grandfather had at his house. Not moving from my position besides a few shuffles of realignment, letting the sun seep into my skin and be too hot against my flesh as it began to redden, it was a calm day and people in the city were talking in quiet tones while walking about. I wasn't truly paying any attention to it, enjoying the sensation of being half-asleep while in the grasp of the warming sun. I was perhaps seven that day, outdoors and peaceful- at least until a great pressure came to my chest. I had no particular mass of intelligence as a child, I was no prodigy in any capacity, in fact now I believe I was much more the opposite, but I knew even so young that my body did not behave normally on occasion. The compression in my lungs being plain proof at that moment as my abdomen stung alongside my throat with the need to vomit- and I did.

Turning onto my side with a slight sting from my red skin with the action, my nose feeling to be stuffed with wads of paper and my vision blurring with the glare of the light surrounding. My lungs were burning from the lack of air and I can remember beginning to gasp desperately in a hope for breath, my legs I recall, had begun to twitch randomly as had my hands in the corner of my sight. I'd felt hot, yet I had not comprehended the reasoning aside from the sun baring down, but it had gotten more intense and I knew it couldn't have been the natural heat of day causing it. The sound of the door bursting open almost has me laughing from the vague memory as it had been thrown off the hinges when my grandfather had punched it off -unnecessarily- to reach me. Even back then he had been short, but I know he had lifted me from the ground -my sheet sticking to my back in tandem.

Everything had been a blur, though I know he had shouted loud to someone within the guild- Macou, I believe, but I cannot be certain anymore. Blood had been dripping from my nose- perhaps even my from my eyes as all I know there had been liquid running down my face and the taste of copper had been fresh in my mouth.. The world had become a mess of shine and colour far and wide and my whole body as my head had simply felt light before I had knocked myself out while giggling at nothing funny.

I had woken to the sound of murmuring voices before they had churned to be clear. I knew both, one being my grandfather speaking fast while his very tone was strained with an anxiety I did not understand back then. The other being Polyusca, irate by the sound, as it ever was, yet there was a smidge of something further underlaying that same irritation that I hadn't bothered to wonder about. She had been speaking calmly to gramps and as I sat up on the small bed in her hut I rubbed my at my eyes to rid the blur of colour, only for it to partially remain, and to see the Master of Fairytail pacing farr to fast with a fingernail being bitten between his teeth and obvious sweat shining on his balding head. Not paying any attention to me in a worry I did not know of, the pinkette had been the first to see my confused stare. Her wrinkles forever making her express stern, but that day I know her eyes had been soft while her mouth had been frowning from emotion and not its natural expression.

Though her gaze had turned quickly again to her old comrade, her lips thinning for a moment before she spoke softly -her voice crackling with the words. "He's very sick Makarov, and there's very little I can do about it." Maybe I saw it before she did, but watched something in him freeze for the information, irises flickering as they stared at the ground, still not having seen I sat awake, it looked as if he had gone feral as his face twined with all sorts of lines and twists I had never seen before. Angry as he turned towards her with a simple swivel.

"There has to be something! A surgery! Something!" Being as she was far taller then he was, I could see her brow furrow fiercely to the demand as he yelled, but as I have not seen since, she did not retaliate with an anger of her own. Oddly patient with his sudden outburst- but now, in reflecting on the memory, I can only assume she had understood his flare of emotion.

"Makarov..." She drawled it out in a sigh, seemingly calming herself. Her adam's apple bobbed as she swallowed loud enough for my slightly ringing ears to have heard it. "I am not an expert in this field, its far too rare for any significant research to have been done, I myself have only ever heard of it in whispers: All I know is from astray papers made by an ancient source that had accidentally come across a case and made some presumptions that no one can prove! Not to mention, those papers were made almost two-hundred years ago." There was a heavy silence, one that I had no want to break, a stare off between the two eldest in the room because neither of them looked towards me for a long time and I had let my attention focus on the window where the green leafs were gently shuffling in the breeze.

"There has to be something..." I had thought the sound imaginary for many seconds, until the sigh from the woman standing tall had lead me to believe that my grandfather had spoken in a soft, pleading voice.

"Ethernano of this extent-" She changed her sentence, shaking her head in a clearance of her thoughts before speaking again. "-This amount of magic in a human being is deadly. I cannot say I know for certain, but to fathom a guess: I would say that it will grow in his body until it simply overwhelms. I do know from those papers that it is indeed a type of magic he has been borne with, just as a water mage is born with a water affinity, so it cannot be removed. However... although it is another guess; with how powerful it is I can only imagine it will begin to effect his mind, badly, having so much magic swarming throughout your body will affect mentality significantly; therein it is highly probable it will begin to drive him insane- or unstable, as it continually attempts to break free of a too small host. Attempting to seal it would be a death sentence as it would simply build and build until it bursts free in a huge cluster. But, there is the possibility I could change it." My head already sinking my emotions with dread, my eyes had sprung upwards away from the interest that had been my sheets as she explained -what seemed to be- my inevitable death.

"I could try, and that is a key word. I could try, to implant a lacrima at the base of his spine where all magic formulates, to act as a barrier. In theory, when its begins to form it will enter the lacrima before it can even begin to enter his system, and as all magic formulates slowly it will not have time to cumulate before the lacrima takes it and turns it into another type of magic altogether. It will have to be a powerful orb one made for a very powerful type of magic- dragonslayer for example. That will stop his natural borne Angel Magic from overtaking him. Lacrima or not however, I cannot stop it completely from entering his body, because- as you know if he has none of his natural magic in his immune system it will break down and he'll die then as well. We'll need a trickle to continue to flow even as the rest is turned into something else. Though even that small amount will try to make a bigger host however, one capable of holding it, thus it will make him grow and grow in an attempt to accommodate itself properly, so he'll be quite tall as a result. That too will need to be controlled, the more height the less the lacrima will work, it'll be spread thin." Again, the silence sat heavier then the information of my aching brain, because although I had known it to be important, it was really only words to remember at the time- and I'm glad I did, because I doubt the old man would have been able to explain it to me coherently.

I heard a stuttering breath ahead, "so now we simply need to find a dragonslayer lacrima." I watched as once again, Polyusca's eyebrows pinched together.

"This will be a very, very, delicate procedure Makarov, I will be messing with his natural magic and how it effects his body, a theory, and one that could go horribly wrong." She ground the sentence out through her clenched teeth, obviously hesitant to do the surgery, regardless that it had been her idea.

"I don't want to die!" It came out so fast, I hadn't watched my mouth and automatically flinched away. Being implanted into my head that there was repercussions for such an action. But while my grandfather had spun to face me with eyes shining with tears not ready to fall and a crushed expression that still haunts me. I'd bit my lip at the sight, still awaiting some form of justice for my outburst but neither of them did anything. My hands had been tangling with the blanket in discomfort and the resting presence of fear looming over me from what I had heard and comprehended- limited though it had been. I sat not looking at either of them finding my hands and the divots in the fabric more appealing then meeting scornful gazes. But then the small figure of my grandpa had sat beside me and I wanted to move back, because I had practically worshiped him and I did not want him to strike me too. He had only put his arms around me and hugged me to him, cupping at the back of my head while rocking slightly. Its a bit of a blurr in my memory, but I know I had cried into his shoulder in confusion then.

"And you won't my boy. Grandpa will make it all go away, just you wait, in no time you'll be joining Fairytail too!" His voice raised an occative in that way parents did when excited for their childen, I'd felt it come forward in me too.

"Really?!" I'd started to doze off almost immediately after the exuberance shot through my body. He nodded very excitedly to my question but then wiggled a finger in front of my face.

"Lets keep this all from your dad alright? Our secret okay?" I'd grinned up at him, finger to my lips and 'shush-ing' before I giggled. My eyelids had almost completely taken me over then, but I did hear-

"Makarov, he won't truly be able to use whatever new type of magic he gets until he's at least eleven, if not longer, his body will need signifigant time to adjust to the lacrima. Not to mention, he'll still have bursts of random sickness for many years, messing around with someones natural magic is exceptionally dangerous, his moreso; as its so prominant in his body's makeup and a powerful type therein. That is- if this actually works." That had made me shutter but I don't know if the old man had felt it at all, even in holding me so tight, I was seven and scared of dying.

~0~

There is once again warmth in my body, heat more accurate as it begins to mount my arms and pits being inflicted first, then thighs, spreading all about. Not a comfortable position removes the growing itch forming in my throat. I already can tell what is fermenting, the clenching pressure bellowing the air from my lungs is indication enough. I am on my back staring right to the ceiling I know to be grainy and disgusting, a weight on my side hot against my skin, furthering my discomfort but as Natsu mumbles slightly and a slight breath puffs delicate on my abs I still my hand from pushing him off. His hands are coiled around my waist and he is holding me tight in unintentioned tripidation of my leaving his grasp. I snort to the idea, I wouldn't have the oppritunity with his grip being so forceful, his hair tickles on my skin, moreso as he rubs his cheek into my bare muscle- I do not sleep with a shirt.- Its only the itch spread over each limb that makes it annoying. The air returns to my lungs slowly, but still it is an effort to get my chest to rise and fall a painful sting with each intake. I am lucky that it seems to be a minor episode, far from my adolescence, intensely mild compared to the horror of thirteen.

Though the temptation fills me, it is Natsu who squirms around, not far and still holding fast, perhaps discomforted by the newfound heat eminating from my form. Unfortunately, his grip tightens, sudden, and unexpected so my instincts cannot stop the bursting cough echoing in the silence of the room, continuing even as feel the abrupt movement taking the tickle of hair off my chest and losening the arms around my waist, the comfort gone. I pull my hand to my mouth- not an easy action as I have to force my trembling arm to action, the obvious liquid in my mouth familiar as I know it spits into my cusped hand with daunting droplets of crimson. I heave for the trial it is to merely cough and on instinct my body begins to coil into the fetual position to help the gasps of breath come easier. I want to scowl, but moving my lips would be impossible, so my eyes take action instead and the rise of tears feels wrong under my lids. The heat of another's touch is as unexpected as it is welcome, as I greatfully feel my pinket's arms wrap around me once more, with issue because one of my arms is in his way, but nonetheless, the feeling of them around me obstructs the forming tears, as the tickle of his hair and press of his forehead inbetween my seezing shoulderblades sooths my impending panic. As the seezing lessons alongside my temours, I peek through my lashes to the dirt incrusted window to see the sun has begun its rise and the beauty of an orange and yellow dawn is sprouting over the buildings.

My body entirely untenses and my sigh comes with it, because my tolerance for the dreadful sickness coming forward has just about snapped and I've only had two fits since my growth had been confirmed. The want bash my fist into the source of the ancestial line, for this bane of genetic inheritnce is so strong the growl that slips forth with the thought makes the arms around me twitch. Its sentimental but I grab his hand in a rather pathetic apology, and let another sigh escape me as I rise up with a creaking pain in my body as I swing my legs over the bed and Natsu shifts behind me. Uncaring, I swipe my hand around my mouth and nose, looking down at it and finding no red is a small relief as I get up. Only to bend down and shuffle on automatic through my bag, the clank of my bottles and the cool glass has me glaring at the auqamarine liquid and cursing in a mutter at the ridiculous colour.

Then I turn to look at Natsu still laying -somewhat- propped up on one elbow and lain in a pose resembling to some of cover of those magazines Mira used to model for, near sexy, but the glitter of his onyx irises and lose lips forming a fragile frown has me pause in shooting back my medication. The desperation for answers obvious on his features without a word. I'm not sure how to tell him anything, because in truth he was never supposed to know anything, it was all supposed to be surpressed and not returned for anyone to see. My hands sweat once more but not for my illness creeping forward.

"I'm sick." Blunt. "Have been since I was seven, maybe before actually." Wrong thing to say, wrong way to explain, because his eyes shoot wide and I can see one of his hands shaking as a panic takes over his face, leaning towards me as if hearing me better would change the words some how. His words come out breathless and rasped as if his throat is constricting on the very sounds.

"How bad? It looks pretty bad, is it really bad?!" His eyebrows are so far up his forehead its obvious they've had enough and are making their escape attempt. Maybe the sweat there is stopping them. But his eyes are glued on my face as his teeth keep biting and letting go and bitting his bottom lip as he pulls at the fragile skin there. I nash my own teeth together, because I don't know what to say in any form of soothing; for in my experience, comfort had only come in the form of my grandfather in small ways and mainly after I had come into the age of fifteen and my father had only just gotten banished, when it had mostly been unwelcome. My parents certainly hadn't run to my aid when I was distressed, not accurate- my mother had when I was still to young to understand utensials, not later though. Ivan had just ignored me in fits of crying, or gaven me an exhausted stare. Comforting someone else was not an area I truly understood, other then with easy, simplistic, problems. This was not simple or easy, having to reassure the man I wasn't seriously ill after having just hacked my lungs forward; was not something I had any type of preperation for.

"A childhood illness, will you stop worrying? I'm fine." Lie, a plain lie, which I had sprouted to myself in my youth for protection from my own interal panic; that I could drop dead on the steets without a proper warning, because of a genetic problem I had -at the time- only just found out I'd inherited from a person I despised. Lying to the wide eyed form of my boyfriend who was so concerned for me as to sweat and nervously twitch -when he was usually such a confident and controlled person- felt so wrong it ground at my thoughts. The weighing gravity of the decision churned in a scratch in rebellion, comfort was not plausible if I was to be forward with the man, we have a relationship it was important for him to at least know a small portion of my problem. "No. It is serious. And it was- is deadly. It is being controlled though, I had surgery to stop it from worsening and medication to aid that. I'll be fine." The last bit I tagged on in some form of assurance, to him or myself was uncertain. His face fell into my pectorials as he sat on his knees, suddenly directly in front of me, once again, his arms around my waist- though not fully with size difference. I pop the cork of my meds and slam back the contents as he says nothing.

"Good." The mounting desire to speak of a cure that would remedy my situation is paramount in my mind, increasing as his cheek -instead of his nose- rests on top of my tattoo, and I can see his lids drop in a fascinating type of contentment, a wisp of a smile on the corners of his lips- one I only know exists because I can feel the dimple raise where he is pressed against me. A cure that does not bless the world, were Zentopia true- would it not put an end to a disease of fatal magic? My fingers tremble at the want for intimacy as I bring them to cusp his head with a hand too large, gentle as I might- holding him close to me. I could grant a white falsity upon his ears, one which would placate him with a hopeful possibility, claim that my 'sickness' could be remedied with a simple herb, or spell, or by dipping my feet into a special pool of water at the midnight whence the stars are alined. A miniscule hope, because it would surmount to no one getting hurt truly and he would feel that aroused in his chest, rather then a continuing worry of fatality coming forward with its debt due. My mouth doesn't even open to form the words.

The softness of his frayed pink hair under and between my fingers, my hand almost surrounding the side of his head, warm and comforting in the fact that he is solid and exists. Leaning against me with a concern for my welfare, and holding me. Would he, if he comprehended my issues? With the plague corrupting my past still lingering as a continual weight of fear; despite my own constant reminders that I needn't be frightened at all. Would, with that knowledge, would I no longer be desirable upon his eyes; a mess of sickness, mental infortitude all incompassed inside a corrupted body? In reflex my hand tightens over his head, he makes no reaction. Unto myself, I say he has no need to know my obstructions, unto morality, he does; yet the very thought of disclosing the information sends ice into my blood. I trust Natsu, for all his brazen personality, he is irrefutably loyal and would say nothing- even if after I'd spoken the truth and he'd found me grotesque in the knowledge, he would say nothing. Because that is the man I've found myself in love with, but still the fright that he might leave me with the explanation tares deep into my flesh.