You ever get that feeling where you know that you want something - that you have this indescribably strong desire to do a specific task or be with a certain person, but you can't put it into words or figure out what that thing or who that person is.
My chest caves with such wants, making my fingers tingle and my body yearned to be touched by something, but I don't know what. I took all night to sit and talk with my long-lost sisters - though the last part was my doing. I listened to them tell their own stories through the years, listened as they laughed at the memory of such things, and forced laughs where I knew they'd be listening for me to do so. It's not that I didn't want to laugh, it's that it's hard to do so when the one person I want to talk to, to listen to, hasn't been back to do such things.
Rohana hasn't been seen, heard, or felt, and neither has Darius. I can feel my sister's unease as they stand guard outside of the room, all wondering where their leader is. It's not that they're lost without her, they know what to do should a threat appear, it's that from what they say Rohana only ever leaves their side for no longer than a few hours on average. She's stayed closer to them ever since I faked my death, and to have her gone for little under a day is making them tap their feet and grow restless, that same fear now imposing on them. They won't move from their stations, but the idea is nagging at them.
I know Rohana better than any of them, or at least I think I do. Who's to say she hasn't changed in forty-two years? From how I remember her, she wouldn't have stayed this long away from us even when we were on better terms, and if she did come back still loaded with anger, she wouldn't speak unless an order needed to be given. She wouldn't ask for space knowing full well that we'd give it to her, and she wouldn't let her issues within us cloud her judgment on her sworn duty.
But who am I to tell anyone who Rohana is? I haven't been here to see her in ages.
Being trapped in the soul stone wasn't as bad as one would think. There was mostly darkness. Dreams of mine made both into colorful joyfulness and the darkest of fears. It was like sleeping, only dreams were carried out in more depth and longer than any I've had before.
It's hard for a dream to suddenly stop when there's no one nor anything to wake you up. It made me mad when the nightmares turned into night terrors due to their length, then more so when they wouldn't end until the story had nowhere else to go. Funny how stories can be continued for centuries in one's mind, yet when it comes down to the mind to speak it, it's shortened and left without an ending not yet finished.
I don't remember most dreams, though a few nightmares and others still pass through my head as I sit here beside Clarice, watching over both her and my mother who fell asleep in her chair hours ago. She refused to let me out of her reach after we walked out of the neighboring room. She kept playing with my hair or my hand, tracing the lines there without looking as if she memorized their paths. I missed her smile and warm eyes and how she would always be the first to make a dirty joke that had us squirming with the grossness of imagining such comments when we were younger, but even with her just sitting beside me I could tell that she too has changed.
I missed her - deeply - but for me, those forty years passed like four hours. The dreams would drag on and make it feel longer, yes, but like all dreams, in reality, they lasted no more than a few seconds. The forty-two years as Hira, however, run perfectly through my head, which makes me missing everyone feel as long as those days. The times in between when Aracely slipped the drugs into the healer's food are fogged, but it's the fog that indicates the times she did so.
I remember healers starting their education when I did, and their progress throughout it, aging where I didn't but forgetting me as soon as they'd start to ask me what my secret was to youthful skin. I could probably name all twenty healers who have returned to Fernweh in the past two days if someone asked me to. I wouldn't do so in front of them, of course. The last thing I need is for them to run their own minds crazy trying to comprehend the fact that an immortal posed as one of them for longer than they can remember and that a witch messed with their minds without their permission.
I haven't been anywhere asides from the two rooms and the hallway, and honestly, I'm a little afraid to. I guess the part of me that is Hira isn't going to go away. The Branka I was would've convinced one of the Bhaltayr - Inna told me that that's what they prefer to be called, and I smile at the thought every time I hear, say, or think the name - to show me around and share their secrets with me. I keep trying to tell myself that I haven't done so because my Queen is sleeping and needs to be looked after, but I can't ignore the shakiness that has taken root inside me.
Clarice woke hours ago for no longer than a few minutes before settling back into her rehabilitating sleep. The amount of power she drained out of Víđarr and the others was a lot, but draining power can be addictive once you start. It's entirely like a drug in the sense that you crave it after one dose, but stopping does get hard when you're in the action of doing it. She kept draining and draining, not realizing just how much she was pulling back into herself. Had my mother and Rohana not gotten her to the coastline, there'd be no Fernweh to win back, and Gods know that I know how hard accepting the fact can be.
After my sister died, I had my time for grief. It never really went away, but like all things, I became accustomed to its presence and learned to function with its pain still whispering in my ears. I got through its deepest pains, and then I set about saving anyone and everyone to try and find a balancing weight to counter that which her death caused me. I tried to save her already lost life by saving those of others. I should've realized sooner than later that there would be no balancing out its weight, as the heaviness of it was something that could only be lifted by my own death, and that was never a real option, even if I did fake it.
Finding out that my sister had died for nothing was more heartwrenching and angering than anything. It's my fault that he killed her.
People can say what they want, try to convince me otherwise, but if I had seen and accepted that my father's darkness was more overpowering than his love, I could've kept her out of his reach and none of this would be happening. Dawn and Kerrigan would still be alive, my mother wouldn't look at me without a shadow passing over her face every time, and Clarice would still be alive with her head untouched, her path crossing Darius's in an entirely different way that didn't lead to either of them slowly becoming empty vessels.
I've lived a century and nearly four decades, and I don't think I could've done what she did. Again, that could be Hiraeth talking, but either way, I'm amazed at her strength and will. She broke a bond that everyone thought was unbreakable, all because she didn't want Darius to know the pain she felt. The pain my father imposed on her.
I would never want anyone to feel the pain I felt, but to break a bond so powerful and strong and brightening...I suppose I have done that, haven't I? I may not be fated to Rohana, nor love her as a fated would, but I do love her, and I broke us.
I knew before she did that our love wasn't one of romance, that we both had preferences for the opposite sex though we weren't against finding pleasures elsewhere. I knew that what I felt for her and the strength in it was that of a familial bond, that it was a protectiveness like that of an older sibling who would do anything for the younger. Sure, that's how the bonds between me and the rest of the Ginerva are, but ours was stronger - deeper. It ran through our veins like adrenaline, making us stronger and prepared for whatever was to come, small or big. She gave me life when my life was the one thing I wanted to smother, and I repaid her by leaving her alone for forty-two years.
What a friend I am.
The bed sturs, pulling me from my depressing life story thoughts. I look to find Clarice's eyes open and clear, her breathing calm and even. She won't be falling back asleep again, but given the way her eyes are slowly drifting towards me, she won't be having such tranquility when she sees a foreign face paired with one of the only voices she remembers. One of the characteristics a soul stone can't fully change. It can deepen or raise that which already sits on your chords, but it cannot fully change it. Honestly, it's a wonder how Hira's voice didn't bother my sisters more.
"It's alright, you're alright. You're safe," I whisper warmingly to her, holding up my hands in neutrality as she sits up suddenly. The movement has her eyelids fluttering and her body swaying. I have to jump out of my own chair to catch her before she falls over the edge of the small bed. The sound of the wood screeching against the floor has my mother jolting awake, her power surging when she sees us before settling back down just as quickly so as not to scare the uneasy child.
"Hira?" she whispers, her voice as hoarse as I last heard it. She doesn't look at me, her eyes still trying to find focus. I blink at her, utterly surprised at how quickly she was able to recognize my voice, especially now that it's not so high and shy.
"Yes, it's me, and you're okay." I glance at my mother whose eyes are already gold and working through Clarice's system, searching for injuries or abnormalities. She shakes her head, and I keep Clarice upright while her vision slowly starts to clear up. "Xaxias and the others are gone, you're safe, but you're still weak. You should lay back down."
She slowly lets me guide her back down against her pillows which my mother stacks so she can sit up, but then she catches sight of my face and is pulling herself back up, this time not swirling her head. "What-"
I expose my palms again. "It's a long story."
She studies me for a few more moments, then takes in the rest of the room before looking at my mom and cringing away from her.
"It's alright," I assure her, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "She's...she's my mom."
Clarice's frown deepens, her gaze now switching between to two of us, likely putting the resemblances together. I've been told multiple times that I could be mistaken as my mother's sister, especially considering that age is hard to differentiate when you're immortal. I have her hair, nose, facial structure, and roughly similar body structure, but my mouth and eyes are my father's. You could've seen such things before he went mad and gained a demon's traits.
Her eyes land on my arms and the filling of the body that was nearly as thin as hers. "What...When...How long have I been asleep?"
"A few days. I'm sorry to say that your health progress won't be as forthcoming as mine."
"And who...who are you? Really?" Her eyes narrow skeptically.
I hesitate, wondering if maybe we should perhaps ask her about just what, exactly she remembers last. Xaxias did, after all, go back into her head minutes before she exploded. I glance at my mother, needing nothing more from her than a nod and an encouraging smile. I pull the chair closer to her bedside before sitting.
"My name is Branka. I'm a member of the Ginerva. I faked my death years ago to no one's knowledge but my own, and I've been hiding in plain sight as Hiraeth since. My appearance was altered through magic means, hard to believe, I know, but soon you'll come to understand it and everything we'll explain given time."
She nods slowly, processing the summed up chaos that is my life. Her slow means of understanding what I said is the reason I kept it short. She's just waking up after almost dying, expelling the last of her energy, and losing her memories. She's highly disoriented and her body is still trying to recover, along with her mind. If we push her too hard too fast, there's no telling what damage could be permanent and which would feather out given time. There are a lot of risks, and all are too dangerous and fragile to take a gamble on, even if we do need her to remember things as soon as possible.
Once she has some sort of handle on the information, she turns to my mother, skimming her with a still weary gaze. "And you?"
"My name is Willa, I'm an...advisor, of a sort, to you. I'm also a healer, my daughter and I have been watching over you since your escape."
"Escape?"
Mom and I share a glance. Baby steps. "What do you remember, Clarice?" I ask her carefully.
She looks down at her hands, her brows furrowing in concentration. "I-I remember...I remember being in the cell. I was chained up, hanging by my wrists. Xaxias was there, he was talking to someone." She shakes her head. "Several someone's. I remember you. You walked by me, your head it was...you had blood on it. I could smell it." She looks up to where the injury inflicted by the cocky guard had been. It's healed now. "You were in front of me, and I could see your hand moving, flashing once, and then stilling before once again moving. I didn't know what it meant, but a word echoed in my head, and I blinked once in response to it."
"What word?" I prompt, already knowing the answer but wanting her to say it.
"Remember. I still don't know what it means, but something...shifted in me. All of a sudden I started feeling the pain disappear and my body was...humming? It kind of felt like a thousand needles were poking my skin, only it didn't hurt, it kind of just...tickled." Her expression lightens as another memory hits her. "A voice said something, a voice that I recognized at the time, saying something I also recognized."
"Do you recognize it now? Can you recall who said it and what they said?" I want to tell my mother that hoping is useless. As Hira, I'm already well used to the shake of her head she gives in answer.
"No, but everything is blurry. I just remember feeling the sun and smelling the fresh air. Everything else is...gone. It's all gone."
"Hey, it's okay," I say when her eyes begin to dart around in panic. "You're doing great - in fact, you're doing way better than we expected you to. That's a good thing, it's a good first step."
She nods, but I can see the little my words do to ease her. She's been through so much already, so much pain and loss and emptiness that's only growing bigger. All I want to do is drag my father in here and do whatever it is I need to in order to get him to return her memories. The poor girl is lost and has no idea how to navigate to the empty valley she's been put in, and I can do nothing but ease her into the new environment and hope that she'll one day be able to walk about it herself as she once did.
"Why don't I go find you some food, I'll bet you're hungry," Mom offers with a smile. Clarice nods distantly, likely not entirely listening anymore. My mom gives me a concerned look, her chewing on her lip telling me that she's debating sending one of my sisters outside to carry out the task instead. She doesn't want to leave either of our sides right now, but I fear that Clarice won't say what's on her mind with her here. I'm the only person Clarice knows and trusts at the moment, and that makes me the only surety she has, which makes my job even harder.
My motehr leaves after I nod for her to, casting one last glance over her shoulder as she closes the door. A wave of relief flows behind it a moment later. My sisters will likely be taking shifts now instead of all of them having to keep watch. I can feel my mother still by the door, which means there's likely a silent argument happening. A few moments later and they're all walking towards the stairs, all but Nilsa who seems to be taking the first watch with me. It's nice to know that they've easily slipped into welcoming me back and including me in things like shifts, but I don't think I'll be taking multiple shifts. Just one long one.
Clarice doesn't trust any of them, let alone know them. I'll have to be at her side at all times, keeping her from retreating to the dark corners of her mind. I'll sleep when she sleeps, though I'll be only half-asleep, the other half listening for idiots who think they can sneak in. I'm not tired, as I've been dreaming for forty-two years, but my body is aching in a way that tells me my mental awakeness isn't going to match that of my physical for quite some time.
It's like adjusting to a new time zone. Then again, I'm not an expert on the subject. My travel experience has been limited to that I had two years before meeting Aracely, trying to find a way to stay "dead."
"Why can't I remember?" Clarice asks, her legs now pulled to her chest as she stares distantly at the sheets. When I don't answer, she looks up at me. I want to answer her, I just don't know how. She sighs, setting her chin on her knees. "It's a long story, isn't it?"
I offer her a small smile. "Yeah."
"Well, I don't think I'll be moving any time soon." I nod at the implication, first debating how long such a story will take to tell and whether or not I should ask my mother to grab some food for me as well.
I run an eye over her. She's tense and her eyes skitter around the room, still not accustomed to her surroundings or the information we have given her so far. I'm not so sure that repeating her story to her is such a good idea, but something tells me that if I avoid it, she'll just keep bringing it up until I cave. She should relax first, ease her racing mind so that as I do tell her a story, she won't be hugging her legs as if they're the only thing keeping her from falling like she's doing now.
An idea pops into my head. "Clarice...does the name Víđarr mean anything to you?′
"I recognize it." She perks up slightly at the fact, hope igniting.
"Could you...say it?"
"Why?"
"You'll know after you say it." She eyes me curiously, biting her lip and shifting her jaw as if trying to see how the name feels.
"Víđarr."
I look around the room, listening, waiting. Nothing happens, so I slump slightly and look back at her only to find her staring wide-eyed at something behind me. I have to refrain from smiling too widely when a large blue form comes up beside me. His eyes are bright as ever, his body is calm and moving slowly as if not to scare her. I don't think the awe and recognition in her eyes is fear.
"I-I know him. He's mine." She slides her legs down, though I don't miss how they shake at the movement. I frown. That'll take days alone to get them to move without strain.
The wolf walks to the opposite side of her bed and lays one of his large paws by her leg. His water shifts, and though it's still slow in its transformation, it's surprising to watch as his huge form shrinks to the size of a pup. It's annoyingly cute at how small he is, and at how his tail wags as he makes his way to her hip, careful not to step on her legs before climbing into her lap and settling down into his own ball. She raises a hand to pet it but stops short.
"It's alright," I tell her. "Trust me, he's the last thing in this world that will hurt you."
It takes her a moment, but then she lowers her hand and I release a breath of relief as her smile widens and a small wave of her power ripples through the room. I'm not entirely worried about it. If he's allowing it then it's because he knows that she needs it, and he won't let her take too much this time. Not when she's safe now, well out of danger, and in no need of an escape.
"He feels like...like home," she breathes, eyes still wide with innocent wonder.
"I know the feeling."
*****
It didn't take long after Víđarr reunited with his master for Clarice to relax. She stiffened when my mother walked back in, three plates of fruit and slices of bread in her hands, but the food eased her up again, and I deemed it safe enough to begin telling her stories. They weren't stories of her or her life, but rather mine. I started at the beginning, going all the way back to when I first walked through the iron gates of Camp Daleka. I told her about Rohana, though I kept most of our friendship to myself, letting those memories take shelter before Ro heard them and burst through the doors, scaring Clarice.
I told her about my blood sister, and then about the sisters who aren't blood but bone. As I talked about each of them, I summoned my sisters one at a time and let Clarice see them for herself. She's curious, this one, and asked each of them to display their powers so she could understand them. My sisters were more than happy to do so, and they left when she was satisfied at getting to meet them, though I could tell that each of them wanted to stay longer.
Then I told her about our awakenings and further training. I described her grandparents and mother, though those titles never left my lips. I went through the main events of our lives as the Ginerva, all the way through the details of my faked death. I gave her the story I gave the others, and when I finished I answered her questions, and my mother answered the ones she asked her, including the details of her own story, specifically that of the events after my death.
Having to hear my mother talk about her mourning and then her duty that leads her here, and the years she spent in hiding with my sisters, abiding by Queen Dawn's orders to stay hidden until such a time came for them to be once again seen, was hard. Even more so when she talked about the years she and Rohana would watch the sunrise and set. I could tell my mom was holding back certain things from me, not Clarice, but I knew that hearing them would likely have me feeling worse than I already did, and my mother's always protected me from such things.
She refrained from referring to Dawn as Clarice's mother, as well as Lance her brother, and Aldred her father as I did. She needs to be eased into her present, not handed the entirety of her past on the first day, and told to sort through it so she can get her memory back and we can all stop worrying for her or biting our nails on the ticking clock that is the slow loss of hers and Darius's souls.
The brain is a sensitive thing, memory more so, yes, but it's the heart that's the most fragile. She may be losing her soul, but that doesn't mean that what's left won't pull her into darkness if she hears everything she told me.
Agonizing and frustrating as it may be, we have to slowly reintroduce her to everyone she knew and the places she's already been but doesn't know it. We'll have to explain things to her without sharing the fact that there's more to certain rooms than the furniture and decor. We'll have to watch her reactions carefully, pull her away from people or things that have her getting uncomfortable or panicked or any bad thoughts rising.
As the young Roseia said, we have our work cut out for us.
"I remember something else, from the cell." Both my mother and I perk up, the sleepiness that had begun to tap on our shoulders darting away.
I glance out the window, not recalling how many times the bell rang last. I remember the sun setting as I spoke my past, and it seems that the light is beginning to show again. Good Gods, we've been up all night and I didn't even realize it.
"A man," Clarice continues. "Not Xaxias, but...I don't remember his name right now, but I know that he was kind."
"Kind?" I ask, trying to keep the sharpness off the word. Based on the way my mother snaps harsh eyes at me, I'd say I failed. No one was kind in the cells.
Clarice shifts in her curled up spot on the bed, unused to my tone. She had sat up for as long as she could, but laid back down after her muscles and back started aching from having to keep her upright.
"Well, he did cause me pain, but...he was different when we were alone. When he was sitting."
"He sat with you?" I dig my hands in my palm, trying to give my body something else to focus on so that my leg doesn't start bouncing out of habit when I'm anxious. I let my mom talk, knowing that the words that come out of my mouth won't be those which will make Clarice want to keep searching through the sliver of memories she's gained. Gods it's no wonder my sisters think I'm annoying.
"Sometimes. He...he always said strange things when it was just me and him." Her eyes narrow in on empty space, attempting to focus on the blurry memory.
"Strange how?" my mother asks.
"He...he said that it hurts - it always hurts. He'd say that it was getting harder to hold, and he'd say that he was tired. So tired..."
"Did he say anything else?"
"Yes, but...he looked different when he said such things. His eyes were cold and hard when he hurt me, but when he talked, they were...worn. They looked more alive than ever, but they looked old like they belonged to someone who's lived longer than both of you combined. He looked..." Her face shifts, changing into an expression that couldn't be described as anything but a realization.
"He looked what?" I push, unable to keep the forcing tone in.
"Will. That's his name. Will." She looks at us, her eyes alight and sudden perkiness causing Víđarr's head to shoot up and tail wag. Of all the people she could've remembered, Willdred Maron had to be the fucking first? We are not off to a good start here.
She sits up again, grunting to lift her own weight despite there being little of it. "Where is he? Is he alive? Is he here? Did you save him? Tell me you saved him. Is he-"
"He's fine," mom finally answers. She scoots to the edge of her seat, readying to lay Clarice back down before she falls off of the bed. "He's alive, and he's being kept within the castle and carefully watched."
"I want to see him."
"Clarice-"
"Please, you don't understand, I need to see him."
"Why," I demand, not entirely concerned that this is just another one of my father's sick games. Surrender his prisoner, only to get to us and tear us from the inside out by placing two of his demons in the middle of our operation. It's just like him to do such things.
"I just...he's not what you think. He...it's hard to explain, and I need to talk to him I just...please," she begs. "He's alone, and no one should be alone. Not when their world's being turned upside down." It's clear enough that the bite is meant for me. I am, after all, the person who kept her from being alone when her world was spinning.
"Fine."
"Branka-"
"You can see him - after you build up enough strength to walk to where he is."
Her slowly rising smile drops in a second. "But-"
"That's the deal. Take or leave it," I say, cutting off her protest.
"That could take cycles!"
"It very likely could." And I'm counting on it too. The longer she's away from him, the more time it'll buy us to make sure that there's no trace of my father or his demon on either of them. My mother must see my plan, as she doesn't object to the proposal again.
"Fine," she agrees, crossing her arms and slumping back into her pillows. It's hard not to smile at the pout on her face, as it's comforting to know that there's some trace of emotion still there and that it's so clear considering her situation.
*****
We've been starting her exercises, figuring out which muscles will need the most attention and just how frail her bones are. The immortal body which heals quicker than those of mortals helps, but it's still slow. She hasn't had any nutrients save for the ones I gave her four days ago, and we can't just give her a feast to eat, she has to ease herself up to a full meal as well.
The days will pass slowly, that I know, I just wish they didn't feel so lonely despite the constant company.
"How long do you think it will be before I walk?"
I look up at her, realizing that I zoned out. "It depends."
"On what?"
"How quickly your health improves, how strong your bones and muscles get, and how good your balance and energy is once we get you standing and walking around the room first."
She slumps against her pillows, letting her head fall back dramatically. "That sounds like it's going to take more cycles than we have."
"What do you mean?" I ask, wondering if she knows that Xaxias is likely to do something world-ending soon.
"Víđarr." I glance at the water pup that sleeps beside her. "He says that the castle is unsteady. The people that walk its halls smell like fear and anger and...they're prepared for something - they don't know what, but they're ready. Xaxias is gone, and I'm assuming that he's the thing that has everyone biting their nails."
I squint down at the alpha pup, not recalling him shifting and laying out words to say something. I've seen Dawn and her mother communicate with their own elemental creations, no words needed, only a touch. Or at least I think it was touch, I never asked about it and I'm beginning to regret that.
I also regret having sent my mother to catch a few hours of sleep before coming back. She needed the rest, but she's the only one who could help Clarice understand who she is and the power she holds. Not to mention know how to bring up the topic of conversation about just how much Clarice knows, and without leading it to be a long talk instead of a short one with a quick and smooth change onto something else. I'm not the best at conversing.
"I feel like a toddler. Not because of the whole learning how to walk thing, though that is becoming a pain in my ass." She ignores my surprised look at the curse word. "I just have so much energy. I want to go run a mile - or two. I want to climb a wall or-or do - something. My skinny ass legs, however, can barely move without shaking at the effort. It's a Godsdamned headache, and I want to scream."
I gawk at her. This is the most life I've seen her express since those few initial days in the dungeons.
How do you comfort someone who still feels the phantom touch of chains around their wrists? I've never been one to do the whole touchy-feely, inspirational talk. I suck at it, but Hira seemed to have been decent at it, at least from what I remember she was. It's weird, it's like she is me, but she's not. It's like another voice in my head, though this one is softer and brighter than the sharp and angered ones of my messed-up personality. I try thinking about what Hira would say, but that just leads me to overthink, so I take a deep breath and let the words fall out on their own.
"I get it." Her eyes snap up, catching my own surprised ones. "Being trapped in a soul stone for forty years has my mind racing and yearning to go out and explore the world through sleepless nights. My body, like yours, is slow to keep up."
"Yeah, but at least yours is functional," she points out.
"I wouldn't go that far. I mean, yeah, Hira's body was thin and frail and I came out and it changed into this-" I gesture to the honed body that's been forged by several decades of training "-but that doesn't mean that I'm back in peak physical health. My muscles ache, and my bones feel sore...I don't even think I'd make it to the door before my legs gave out. My body may look like this, but it still feels like it did when we were encased in darkness."
"Hmmm. I'd call you an old hag, but considering your mother's age and her perfectly flawless, anti-aging appearance, I'd say you're nothing more than a sissy teen like me."
"I suppose I am." We laugh soft laughs, the sounds echoing oddly off the walls. It's slowly become less of a foreign sound and that more of a comforting one. I think it scared us both the first few times the staccato sounds came from our throats. We hadn't laughed in so long, let alone ever heard each other's. We may be out of that cell, but the darkness doesn't entirely leave you even when you sit in the sun and feel its warmth. Chills still rise bumps on your arms, and closing your eyes for too long will have the sun's heat suddenly turn suffocating.
We were down there for months, and though months are nothing for me, they were long. They were free of joyous sounds, replaced by heartrending ones. A minute felt like days, days like cycles, and cycles...well, you get the point. It was an eternity and a painful one at that.
My head begins to slip into deeper thoughts, brought about by flashbacks of the past months when an idea pops up. "I think I have an idea of how to content our fidgeting fingers."
Clarice gives me a hopeful look, likely thinking that I'm going to allow her to get out of her bed. Even Víđarr's head hops up in anticipation.
"Do you remember Makatza?"
Her brows knit, but I note that they don't do so as deeply as they first did after she woke up. Another sign of progression. "The shifter, right?"
"Yes. She's the most energetic person I know. If anyone knows how to keep us busy while we're stuck in here, it's her. If you're okay that she comes in?" I ask, noticing her sudden change in posture.
She thinks about it, biting her lip while she goes back to petting Víđarr. Based on the way her eyes stare distantly, I'm assuming that she's listening to whatever it is he has to say. Unlike us, her eyes don't change color when she's using her powers for anything.
"One condition. The others come as well - the rest of the Ginerva," she bargains.
"If that's what you want," I say slowly.
"I just..." She sighs loudly, slapping her hands over her eyes before letting them fall in frustration. "You guys are the only people I know, and everyone else who's in the castle seems to avoid this side of the grounds. Víđarr won't tell me why, but I have my theories. Anyways, it'd be nice to know that when I do finally walk, and when I undoubtedly run into them, I won't have to worry about facing them alone. I don't like being alone," she whispers.
"You aren't - and you have never been alone. Always remember that." She gives me a strange look, and then I nearly fall out of my chair at the realization of my words. "Dear Gods that's - I didn't mean-"
"It's fine. It's more of an encouragement than a small stab."
I release a sigh, thanking the Gods that she's immune to such idiotic mistakes. "Well, in that case..."
Two seconds later and Mak walks in with a small box in her hands and the most unsettling joyous smile. "I figured you two would eventually get bored, so I prepared a hospitalized survival pack."
She drops the box in front of Clarice's crossed legs, the contents shuffling with contradicting noises as they rattle around from the drop. We lean in to inspect its contents, and I find several decks of cards - one in which has vulgar images of a woman's bare body- cups, small multicolored balls, paper, and pens, a mini target...
"Saints Mak, where did you find all of this?" I ask, rummaging through its contents.
"Nowhere. Everywhere. Well, it's not like anyone's going to miss them," she argues when I raise an eyebrow at her. I don't know whether to feel comforted by the fact that she still has the bad habit of rummaging through people's things or being disappointed. Something my death didn't touch, unlike many things I have noticed.
"What's with the cups?" Clarice asks. She stacks them in her lap, counting their rims.
"That," Mak says, smiling wickedly and rubbing her hands together in an evil manner. "Is for when it's late into the night, and we're all in need of a drink. Or ten."
"You are not giving her alcohol," I protest.
"Fine, that just means that you will have to drink her share."
I open my mouth to protest again, but the door opens and the rest of my sisters walk in. Still no sign of Rohana.
"Oh no, not the box," Vanya says, noticing Mak's stash of devilish things.
"Hell yeah, it is," Inna yells. She doesn't give two shits and plops down on the other side of the bed, already pulling out the rest of the box's contents. I hold back my retort to get her to simmer down when I catch Clarice's small closed-lip smile. She's still hesitant about them, but I can see her trying to quiet her thoughts.
"I'm warning you now," Inna says with a wave of her brows. "I'm the champion of tic-tac-toe."
"That's because you cheat," Nilsa points out.
"I do not!"
"To be fair," Dee chimes. "You cheat at Bullseye, Nilsa."
"Last I recall, you sad assholes were drunk, that's why the target was moving, because you were seeing double, not because I changed your reality."
"Bullshit-"
I feel myself smile as they all start getting into their own arguments, accusing each other of foul play and horrible sportsmanship-like behavior. I suppose I missed this. It's hard to tell when my thoughts are muddled and my head still thinks this is all another dream from the blue soul stone.
"You know," Clarice whispers softly. I lean towards her, though my eyes still watch as the chaos unfolds. "Watching them bicker is much more entertaining than playing a few games."
I match her smile. "You have no idea."