Miss: Miss Wormwood purges you

"Dear, dear Morgan," Miss Wormwood says. "You've rather put yourself in a pickle. House Leontes, swagger it through all the way, eh?" She nods her pale, thin-lipped face chidingly in your direction. The full-head garland of green snakes Miss Wormwood has in place of hair all bow down their heads, echoing her nod.

You don't have a good deal to say. Miss Wormwood has arranged a tube down your throat to drip some fluid to induce a slow continuous purge. It's rather horrid. Cramps and shudders and an occasional splatter into the vessel you're sitting on.

At least the headache is gone, though you couldn't say you were feeling good or comfortable. Rather the opposite. But a certain kind of keening-in-one's-ears lightness of head is part of the result, so you feel somewhat remote from your troubles.

Miss Wormwood checks the contents of the vessel. "There we go, Morgan, all clean. Off to the bath with you."

The bath is soothing, at least, though you feel like a flannel that's been twisted and run through a mangle and left to dry all crumpled up.

Try again at GET OUT OF THE INFIRMARY. Roll +BRAVERY(-2) (-1 Bravery, -1 CONSEQUENCE).