He caught sight of the withered corruption that had now covered nearly the entirety of his left forearm. His skin was dry and cracked, and there were dark, purple splotches in random areas. Every now and again, terrible cramps shook through his arm, some worse than others. For the past month or so, it had been inexorably advancing at a glacial pace across his flesh, but had stopped a week ago just above his wrist and onto his palm and just beyond his elbow. It left him with a shaking hand from time to time, as if he had Parkinson’s or some other rotten illness. The dusky, greyish tint of his skin somehow made the black, flaking latticework that covered his forearm all the more noticeable. He didn't know what they were. They weren't veins. Capillaries perhaps? Corrupted and deadened by his magical substance abuse and unable to be removed by ordinary bodily process? Or extraordinary ones in his case, but it was the best explanation he could come up with on his own.