Bereft: Demise

50 | Of Waiting Pyres

"Why are you dressed like you're an extra in a Jane Austen novel?"

He scoffed. "An extra? I'm main lead quality, whether you believe it or not."

I snorted and sat up properly as I rubbed my arms and chest to dispel the phantom pain still lurking in my bones. "That's not an answer." 

"Well, I didn't think you were being serious." He waved a hand toward the outer wall. "It's the solstice, Sara. It's the party."

Which meant it was the twenty-first of December. I had been adrift for longer than I expected. Some visible sign of distress must have been visible on my face, because Anzel reached over and squeezed one of my hands. 

"You're feeling better, aren't you? I wish you had come to me earlier." He colorless eyes flickered and gleamed, calculating and compassionate while never losing their cold edge. "You know, asking others for help isn't a crutch, Sara. It's not something to be afraid of; it's a tool the most innovative thinkers wield with great expertise. I wouldn't have survived this long if not for the help of others, of people like Elias. I don't know what you're struggling with, what issue commands your attention so. You won't tell me, thus I cannot help. Either way, being stubborn has done nothing but you cost you your time and give you pain."

I studied his hand overlapping my own before he removed it, biting the kneejerk retort balanced on the tip of my tongue. He wasn't wrong. I could have gone to Anzel or to Elias and asked for an infusion, but I hadn't wanted to. I didn't want to involve them—but the sickness had lasted for much longer than I'd thought. Weeks. I'd been out for weeks.

Weeks I needed. Weeks I couldn't afford to lose.

"That—." Anzel pointed to the empty bottle. "—is nothing to me. A minimal effort. An afterthought. You aren't indebted to me. You owe me nothing. Don't hesitate in the future to use me again in such a manner when your health is on the line."

I didn't argue—having already drank the ether infusion—but that didn't stop the corner of my lips from twitching with distaste at his word choice. Was that what I was? A user? It felt that way more often than not. I used Darius to exact revenge, used Peroth to give me shelter, used Cage to teach me, and used Anzel to keep myself healthy. Was that not the definition of a user?

"Here."

The box Anzel had brought suddenly landed on my blanketed knees. It was light and malleable, about the size of my torso if I were to hold it flat to my chest. Judging its dimensions, shape, and weight, I guessed it held an article of clothing. I lifted a brow in question and the Vytian only smiled. 

"Open it. Go on."

Sighing, I pried the cardboard lid off to reveal a dress partially hidden in flocked tissue paper. It was a lighter gray than Anzel's waistcoat—silver, almost—but it had the same subtle embroidery and the same cool, watery texture. 

"Anzel...."

"I knew—," he went on before I could finish. "You wouldn't remember the party, or simply wouldn't care. I told you before, it's a time for celebration and it's a time you shouldn't miss. Whatever answers you seek, whatever quest you're on, you'll never find your goal by entombing yourself in this...room."

I pulled the dress free of its confines, pinching it by the neckline as if it were a poisonous snake. There was a pair of heels nestled in the bottom of the box. The garment was dreadfully lovely, something that should be worn by a woman of poise and vivacity—not a tired, dying girl.