Something With a Prince

Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Missing Piece

Tallethea

The first time I went bow hunting, I misfired my arrow and accidentally shot the rabbit in the side instead of the heart. My ears rang with the sound of the bow as it loosed. Thuwump and the rabbit went down, sprawled in the grass. Running to it, I saw that I had missed. The point of the arrow was protruding out of its back and dripping with blood. It had passed by the heart and pierced through the lower lungs. Awake, it gasped for air the best it could, legs trying their best to get away despite knowing full well it was mortally wounded. Not wanting it to suffer, I pulled my dagger out, but shock was swift to end its misery. The rabbit, bleeding and suffocating on the forest floor, my arrow sticking out of its back, died on its own terms, looking me in the eye.

I suppose that is what it means to hunt. It's not about killing or winning, it's about surviving, knowing full well that your time to be someone else's prey is coming. Now that it was my turn, I couldn't stop thinking about that rabbit. Staring vacantly at me, at the sky beyond it, and the light dying out.

Looking at the sky in my final moments would have been nice.

The thing is I can't die like a rabbit. I am aware of my body's attempts to save me: heart pumping awkwardly, extremities going cold, pale, and sweaty. Consciousness makes dying a punishment as much as it makes it a gift.

Looking down, I saw light from the window above reflecting off the blood pooling at my side and stomach as I lay on the cellar floor. My body was surrounded by darkness and the skittering feet of mice. Attempting to slow the bleeding or apply pressure I had taken off my vest and balled it up. Laying on it hurt like a bitch, but I wasn't strong enough to hold it myself. At least something was pressed against my gushing side. I had been told pressure helped once. Or...something like that. It probably didn't do anything but give me a reason to deny that I could die here. Again.

My thoughts went to my mother, and not letting her say goodbye to me, because it was too dramatic. Arguing with her over my hair and clothes. Not hugging her. But those were not the only memories I had now. I also thought of how she had laid me down in this place before. How she pulled me off the doorstep each night and cradled me in her arms when I couldn't speak.

Poor little rabbit.

That voice slid into my head, making me jump, then wince as the wound pinched. Searching the cellar, I settled on the darkest corner, assuming that's where it was. "Who are you? Why are you following me?"

Who are you? Why are you following me? It mocked my voice.

"Fine. Don't respond." Every word was harder than the last to get out. They were wet coughs that made my eyes squeeze shut. Once my head grew too heavy to lift, I dropped it to the stone and panted out, "But the least you could do is let me die in dignified silence."

Where is your wolf, rabbit?

A new pain came from inside my heart, but I was quick to snuff it out. After what I had done, imaginary or not, I'd happily take numbness over feeling any kind of emotion ever again. I forced myself to focus on the physical, barricading myself behind my walls against anything other than acceptance. Emptiness. I wasn't afraid... It shouldn't be long now anyway.

"He got what he deserved."

Your father abandoned you, and that justifies his murder in your mind? What about your mother? She sacrificed your heart, the reason you are here... What does that earn her?

"She's different." I coughed hard, spitting, and wheezing into the shadows. Everything was tilting and I felt dizzy. Like I was trying to wake myself up before my body was ready. "My mother is different."