The Deadly Curse

20 | The Revival and The Burial

My stomach had stopped growling hours ago. It accepted that it wasn't going to get food. It couldn't, not when my limbs no longer worked. I laid on my bed, immobile, eyes puffy and sore. My eyelids had dry, irritated skin now from rubbing them so much. And despite my stomach's protests, I had no appetite. At least, I had no motivation to have an appetite.

Beyond the window, the hope that had captured and brightened Eternity faded. The song and celebration had become distant, almost whispers now. It was as if the earth itself knew something was horribly, horribly wrong. As if it knew hope had died with the return of Rune's magic. As if it knew its future ruler had caused it all: the revival, and the burial.

I wasn't sure how many days had passed. I wasted time switching between sleep, a tsunami of thoughts and feelings, and absolute paralysis. I was all-too-aware that I was withering away, and even more aware that I didn't care.

Sometimes, pesky optimism found me. Maybe—a remote maybe—insanity wouldn't consume Rune. Maybe I could talk to him, bring him off the edge. Maybe the power of love was enough.

But reality set it, and I knew that love wasn't enough. That's what killed me. Not just that I was the enemy of this affair, but that I couldn't fix it with love.

I constantly contemplated how to fix this. Could it even be fixed in the first place? And if it could be, what could I do? I'd tried to get through to Prince Rune, tried to pierce his fear with love and understanding. But it didn't work. Rune had to choose this for himself. But was he capable of choice, going mad as he was?

God, it was my fault. My body curled into a tense ball, the only exertion my muscles got these days. I clenched everything as hard as I could, shaking with the effort. I couldn't tell if I was trying to expel the self-hatred from my body, or tattoo it to my skin.

A soft knock sounded at the door. Like usual, I didn't respond. But the door opened anyway.

At first, they merely went about their business: dusting, putting clothes away, cleaning the bathroom. But when they finished their chores, the edge of the bed sunk with their weight. Wordlessly, they placed a hand on my side. And a few tears slipped from my eyes.

At last, they spoke. It was tender, like speaking to a vase about to shatter. "You look unwell. You should eat something. Get some movement. A bath might help, too."

I didn't say anything. I couldn't. My tongue no longer worked. It had been buried beneath the destruction.

But Eika didn't move. Rather, she caressed my arm.

A long sigh cleared some of the rubble from my mouth and brain. My voice cracked from unuse. "I'm an empty shell now, Eika."

"Food could fill the emptiness."

The foreign urge to chuckle swept away some of the cobwebs. A hint of energy trickled along my skin.

"It's all my fault."

She adjusted, scooting farther onto the bed. She sighed. "Blame is such a tricky thing. For some, it's easier to place it squarely on one's own shoulders. For others, it's far easier to shove it onto anyone else. But in a complicated situation such as this, perhaps we must blame everyone."

For the first time, someone didn't bother to argue with me. She didn't immediately reassure me that it wasn't my fault. That I wasn't to blame. Sure, she didn't outright agree with me either. But there was something fascinating about her words, fascinating enough that I rolled over to look directly at her.