Lokette
A cold nothingness enveloped an even colder fullness. That is hell, a place where you are both alone and constantly haunted by the ghosts of your failures and tears and the names people have called you throughout your life and the names you've called yourself in your darkest hours.
It started off small. A sneeze. A cough. Nothing to be worried about, just your run of a mill cold. But then (then) it grew worse. Suddenly the sneezes wouldn't end and the coughs were pained and blood dribbled out of their lips. Nobody dared to touch the cursed, the ones touched by /it/. Cursed by the plague.