Bereft: Demise

16 | Of Twisted Old Souls

I left the Sin's rooms. I thought perhaps I needed to find something to eat to settle my mind and my stomach, but I didn't manage to get far. Whatever strange and discomfiting illness the leaf had allotted me became more grueling once I began my descent. I finished one flight of stairs and sank to the floor so that I could catch my breath.

What did the vision do to me? I feel so weak. Like I'm....

Like I was dying. I was dying. The bruises continued to ache and the demure puncture beneath my ribs bled a little more every day. Every day I grew a bit more tired, a bit dizzier, and a bit weaker. One day soon, Balthier's liminal magic would reach its crescendo, its dwindling effects would culminate, and I would fall and not rise again. I would die. 

Did the manor exacerbate the magic in my wound? Was this...was this my end?

"You look like you've been on a bender." 

I lifted my head from the cradle of my arms to see Anzel Vyus smiling above me. He was carrying a bundle of fresh, dew-spattered leaves in one hand with some sort of small satchel hung about his neck. His hair was caught in a hasty tie and trailed over one shoulder. He had small green clippings on his clothes and dark mud on his hands. Just above the cusp of the satchel's lining, I could spy the cork stoppers of opaque bottles.

Anzel noticed where my tired eyes had wandered and casually tucked the bottles deeper into the satchel. "Have Requiem and Refrain been passing around their wine again? You have to drink that in moderation, or you'll be laid out on your...."

The Vytian's words trailed off as I continued to stare him with blank, pained eyes and his pleasant grin edged into a frown. Mindful of the satchel bumping against his midsection, Anzel crouched, placing his herbs on the floor as he took my wrist in his long-fingered hand. I made a weak attempt to recoil, but he held firm, fingertips held upon my pulse point.

A moment later and Anzel's frown intensified as the Vytian passed the back of his free hand over my fevered brow, tutting under his breath. "You've ether sickness," he murmured as a disapproving light gleamed in his steady gaze. "You've been irresponsible. You should always know your limits before you practice any sort of spelling. Don't you know this could become permanent if not treated? You should always work with your tutor present if you do not know better."

I didn't have the wherewithal to argue with him. What was ether sickness? What did he mean by tutor? Whatever the illness was, I couldn't have it if it was the result of "irresponsible" magic usage. I couldn't use magic.

Anzel rose. His hand slid from my wrist to my hand and gripped it tight. "Up you get, love. Let's get you better."

"What...where are we...?" 

The Vytian had surprising strength hidden in his lissome form. He was able to easily hoist me onto my unsteady feet and support my weight with his one arm braced under my own. I leaned into him, willing the pounding to lessen in my skull so I could think.

"We'll make you an ether infusion and you'll be better in tick. My rooms are just—."

"I'm not going to your rooms," I stated, refusing to budge an inch despite his insistence. There was no way I'd allow myself to be taken alone somewhere unknown with a stranger.

Anzel stiffened at my side, peering sidelong through the filter of his black lashes. "My, I must paint quite the nefarious picture in your mind if you believe me capable of attacking a sick woman."

"I think that's where the expression better safe than sorry comes from," I said through gritted teeth. The words were rigid and sounded every bit as forced as they were.