By the time Bunny finds Jack, half-buried in a bank of snow against the trunk of an old oak, the sha

By the time Bunny finds Jack, half-buried in a bank of snow against the trunk of an old oak, the shadowy sickness has already begun its spread from the sinister wound on Jack’s chest. Twisting and writhing like snakes beneath his skin, the inky tendrils creep up Jack’s neck, climb the curve of his jaw, crawl over an icy, pale cheek. As far as Bunny can tell, Jack is aware of none of it. His eyes are unseeing, his expression distant, and the corruption advances, seeming to soak up what blood still oozes from a deep laceration that stretches from eye to ear where Jack had narrowly—too narrowly, if Bunny has anything to say about it—avoided losing half his head to Pitch’s scythe. He hadn’t avoided the arrow that followed. -- source link

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