"Balance on your right foot only."
"We already did that. Twice," I whine
"And no we're doing it a third. Do it."
I roll my eyes at Branka, the only one of the Ginerva who has been putting me through hours of exercises she calls tests. "Branka, please. We've been at this forever and you didn't let me get out of bed for two hours after I woke up. I'm fine - really."
"And I'm only making sure that you won't fall down the stairs," she reasons. I want to leap onto her or take her neatly folded arms across her chest and throw them into the air for her.
"If you keep wasting my energy that I could've been using to walk on these pointless tests, then yes, I will fall down the stairs because my legs are tired from doing squats, and balancing tests, and jumping jacks."
"Are your legs tired already? Because if they are-"
"Branka!" She stops her clear attempt to keep stalling and gives me an innocent look. I sigh, forgoing my anger and walking over to her slowly, pulling her arms only to take her hands. "Thank you, for taking care of me, but I'm fine. I can walk, and I can do it without needing to grab onto something."
"She's not wrong, you know," Rohana agrees. "You're hovering."
"I'm not hovering." Not even she looks convinced of her claim.
I mean it though. I appreciate the love and care that she's given me nonstop - I appreciate all ten of them, but I know why they don't let me leave, why they haven't stopped Branka's stalling until now.
My memory still hasn't returned, and aside from a few things from the darkness of my cell, I know nothing of my past nor who was a part of it. These women already told me that they're rather new to my life, so it hasn't been odd befriending them, but everyone outside of these walls knows me one way or another, and I still don't know how I feel about it. All I do know is that I've been slowly dying in this stuffy room, and children's laughter rings out from outside, and it makes me even more anxious to leave.
Pushing the thoughts of seeing people out of my head, I smile at Branka and wiggle my eyebrows. "I know you wanna get out of here too."
She sucks on her teeth, trying to hide the smile that's tugging at her lips. It doesn't work, and she ends up shaking her head and letting her hands fall from mine in defeat. I don't give her the chance to change her mind and snatch Serephina's hand and tug her to the door. Her laugh echoes in my ears, light and airy like the sun shining on a blossomed spring day. It only makes my chest feel less weighed down, and we both break into an eager run.
"No running!" Branka yells, but we both ignore it, Vanya catching up to us. For a moment I think she's going to pull us to a stop, but she just grabs my other hand and pulls us along a little faster.
We skip down the stairs, healers moving aside to avoid our path. Some give us scolding looks, some wide-eyed, and others wider smiles. We all nearly run into Siscilla who I've come to admire when we reach the ground floor. I yell an apology over my shoulder, and she yells something along the lines of, "Not a single scratch on that clean skin of yours!"
I laugh at her words, but they do more damage than anything. My skin's clean of all any scars I may have gotten from what the women have told me, but sometimes I can still feel them lingering, burning beneath my skin begging to be let out - to be seen. Sometimes my body aches from soreness I don't remember having a reason to gain, other times it's sudden sharp pain in my legs or fingers.
They may have saved me from whatever hell I was put in, but it still lingers, and not just in my body.
My head's gotten worse, though there's no physical pain to describe to Branka so she can relieve it. You can't relieve the pain of your own making, the sickness of your own dark thoughts. I still don't feel emotions like I see others express them. My smiles are faked and practiced on my lips in the night when Branka or whoever is watching me falls asleep. I've shed no tears, felt no fear, haven't gotten close to anger, and happiness is something my sweaty hands can't seem to grip aside from moments like this when it's freedom that has me feeling something in the empty chest of mine.
I imagine what happiness would feel like as we leave the Healer's Tower and start down a hall. I imagine that it feels like the chill snaking up my legs from the winter season, tingling my body to remind me of the warmth within. I imagine that it's the billow of my half tied up hair, feeling wild and careless of where it leads. I imagine it feels like the fervor that runs through both Inna and Vanya's hands and into me, though it only lasts up to my elbows before it disperses. And I imagine it feels like this sudden glow that shines in my chest as we keep running. I may not be able to feel happiness, but that sure as hell isn't going to stop me from trying.
Branka and the others appear halfway down the hall. I look around for a quick alternative route, but instead, I find windows to my left, giving me glimpses of the sparkling snow and the children playing in it. I let Vanya and Inna slow me to a stop as we reach the others, but my eyes still gaze out the nearest window. Something's...pulling me towards it. I can't explain it, but it's like a voice calling my name outside. "Let's go outside."
"Not dressed like that." I stop my walk for the wooden door and look down at my clothes. I'm wearing black trousers, tucked into the thick boots Mak likely stole from somewhere in the castle to keep my feet warm. The tunic is a bit thin, but it hasn't bothered me yet.
I look at Branka, her arms already crossed again in that motherly defiance. "Then, by all means, Branka, go find me a coat," I sass, my patience waning.
She glares at me, but then she mists out, we wait for about two seconds, and then she returns, a long black coat with grey and white fur lining in her outstretched hand. I take it with a smile and quickly slip it on. Mak opens the door and the winter wind hits all of us at the same time. The bite of the cold makes me suddenly grateful that Branka's such a fussy friend.
I pull the coat tighter around me and hop two-footed into the soft ice of the top step. My feet sink until most of my calves are beneath the surface. I reach down and grab a big clump of it, savoring the instant slight pain of its frosty chill. I turn to ask one of them a question, but then my hand gets a shock of pain, one stronger than the others I've gotten, and it's run all up my arm, to the side of my neck, and ends in my head. I flinch from it, the snow in my hand dropping back down to the ground.
Branka and Rohana are instantly in front of me, both inspecting my face and then my hand that held the snow.
"What happened?" Rohana demands coldly.
"Nothing - I just - I don't know. One second I was picking up the snow, and the next, pain shot up my arm."
They both let out a relieved sigh, but I'm not so easily relaxed. The sting hurt like a bitch, and it left this tingling feeling in my arm as if it had fallen asleep. I shake it, hoping it'll do the trick to get rid of the invisible ants. It doesn't work and I give up, dropping my arm back down to my side with a frustrated grunt. More pain shoots up again at the movement, and as I flinch again, a large clump of snow plops down beside us, scaring us all.
"What the hell is going on?" I ask, partially sure that they're trying to punk me.
"An explanation for later," Rohana says with a sigh. "For now...Inna, if you would?"
I turn to Serephina, eyeing her as she lays her hand on my shoulder. "Don't worry, it doesn't hurt." I open my mouth to ask, but then her eyes start to glow silver and the words die on my tongue. The tingling in my arm disappears, as well as that glow in my chest, leaving me barren and trying to yank it back into myself. Nothing happens, and Serephina's eyes return back to normal.
I remember Branka explaining why their eyes change color and what it means, but Serephina has power absorption, so why would she need to use it on me? I don't get a chance to start answering my own question, as something small yet strong hits my legs and I have to grab Inna's arm to keep myself from stumbling and falling at the impact. I look down and find a brown-haired young girl looking up at me with her arms wrapped tightly around my leg. She smiles and laughs, and soon a boy slightly older than she latches onto my other leg, happily smiling too. The resemblance between the two is clear, and I place them as brother and sister.
"Clare Bear!" The boy yells, still gazing up at me.
"Claber," the little girl echoes, roughly repeating her brother's words. I offer them a tight smile, but I don't recognize them.
They both laugh again, and I feel as something different takes hold of my chest. Unlike the glow of whatever was there before, this feels like a burning desire. A desire to protect, to keep them as close to me as possible. I have no idea why, nor do their faces or voices bring up anything, but sometimes your body knows you better than you know yourself. If it's telling me that I know them, one way or another, then I know them, and I can't necessarily watch them be happy and not smile myself.
"Hello," I say cautiously, still unsure of how to proceed with them.
I expected to have an encounter with people my age or older but to come across children who were a part of the days I don't remember, that's a different kind of realization. A painful one.
How could I forget children? I haven't been near a mirror yet, so I can't necessarily eliminate the possibility of them being family of mine, but a glance at the others tells me that possibility is unlikely. Still, they're children, children whom don't know nor could properly understand who it is I am now. They're looking for the person they knew, they're literally latching onto her, but I'm not her, and I may never be again.
The knowledge has my chest heaving, and my knees beginning to feel weak and prone to giving out. I'm not the same person I was, even if I can't necessarily remember who I was, it's a fact I know to be deep within my heart, and I've been ignoring it because I hadn't wanted to believe it was there. I wanted to believe that getting my memories back would make this feeling go away, but until that happens, I'm stuck with it, and even if I do regain my head, I don't think this scar is fading anytime in the near future.
Needing some kind of distraction, I kneel in the snow, ignoring how easily the cold of the ice seeps through my trousers. The two children quickly move their grips from my legs to my neck, and I end up getting off balance and falling backward onto the step behind me. My butt is now likely to soon be soaked, but I don't mind it, not as the boy starts speaking about how much he missed me, and how much his sister, Mira, had missed me as well. He's no older than eight at my guess, her likely five or a year younger.
"Kat said you were sick," the boy says, pulling back just enough to look closely at my face. "You don't look sick."
"I don't?" I ask surprised. As much as Branka says nothing, I'm not stupid. She looks at my cheeks and beneath my eyes several times a day, which always makes me think that I look rather ghostly.
"No, but you could use some mint."
I glance at his sister, hopelessly thinking that the younger girl would elaborate, but of course, she's thoroughly distracted with touching my hair. "For what?"
"Your breath. It smells like fish."
"I-" I'm too shocked and slightly embarrassed to glare at Mak's snort and Nilsa's proud smirk.
"Wouf! Wouf!" Mira chants, thrusting her fists into the air and jumping with each chant. I stare at her in confusion.
"She wants to see the wolf," her brother explains. "Kat told us stories about the water wolves, and she's obsessed."
Kat. He's said the name twice now, which means they're likely someone from my past, seeing as he's connected to her and I to him. I don't let myself dwell on the thought too long, and whisper Víđarr's name in my head. He's told me a few things throughout the days, one of them being that if I ever needed him or another wolf, I'd simply have to clearly think his or another name in my head, and they'd be there a moment later. I thought it was an outlandish idea, so I asked for another wolf's name and then thought of the name as clearly as I could. When I opened my eyes, a violet-eyed wolf sat at the side of my bed.
Now I say Víđarr's name, and with a smile to the boy, I look past him and Dee who stands behind him and watch as my once pup of a wolf comes around the corner, now bigger than when I remembered first meeting him. His gold eyes find mine, and his tail wags as his water stays calm. Kathika and Tsil quickly move out of Mira's way when she spots him, her arms already spread open as she races for him. He lays down as she gets closer, taking her embrace around his neck gladly. Her arms don't even reach halfway around his neck, but she doesn't seem to mind much.
Her brother follows after, though he's more interested in comparing the size of his hand with that of Víđarr's paw and then lifting up his lip to see the long teeth beneath. I laugh when Víđarr starts opening and closing his mouth after the boy and his sister move to climb on his back, trying to get his lip unstuck from getting caught in his teeth.
A few other kids appear around the corner, and they all scream when they see Víđarr, but at the boy's enthusiastic encouragement, they slowly approach and eventually start using Víđarr as a playground.
I call another name in my head, the name of the violet-eyed wolf I briefly met. She appears over my shoulder this time, and I give her a small pet before letting her join her alpha. She walks slowly so as not to scare them. I notice that her paws don't sink into the snow, and there are no footprints in her wake. I squint at her feet, trying to find the reason for it, but I come up empty. Another thought for later.
The two wolves are eventually overrun by the seven children who play with them, women who could only be their mothers watching keenly from a few feet away. There are two others standing by the wall opposite of them, both dressed in dark clothes and a cloak with a beautiful shade of blue on the inside. One's a man, another a woman, and they're staring at me rather than the children, their hoods down to reveal their shocking expressions. They're staring at me as if I'm a ghost too, entirely ignoring the women around me. I shift uncomfortably beneath their gazes and turn back to watch as Kallisté lays on her back, exposing her belly to the older kids. They scratch her chest, a younger one hoisting himself onto her neck and laying on it on his stomach. One of the women calls his name, Eric, a panicked look on her face at his closeness to the wolf's mouth.
Still feeling the gazes of the two cloaked figures, I stand from the step and walk toward the four mothers, dusting the snow off of my butt as I go. The Ginerva follow, but I wave them off once I get closer to them. As much as they may not want to admit it, they're all dressed like assassins, and they're not necessarily hiding the number of weapons they have on them. I'm weapon-free, and I don't need them worrying about the women behind me reaching for their blades.
"They won't harm your children," I say, stopping at what I hope is a respectful distance away from them. They all give me worried and suspicious looks, sizing me up. I make sure to keep my hands where they can see them, that way they don't think me prone to causing them harm. "The wolves are forbidden to harm any innocent soul. They were made to protect the innocent, and they'd die before their teeth could sink into a pure being's skin."
They still don't answer, but the tallest one of them steps forward, her eyes going from questioning to realization. "I know you. You're...you're the one from the Ball, the one who saved all of us. The wolves are your creations."
The other women's eyes widen at her words and my stomach sinks down to my feet. I smile on instinct, deflecting having to tell them that I have no idea what they're referring to. I don't remember a Ball, don't remember saving them, or creating Víđarr or the others. I pray to the Gods and their Saints that they don't ask questions. I won't be able to answer, and their suspicion of my wrong ones would only make them be uncertain about not only me but others in the castle. I'm already fucked up as is, I don't want to fuck up anyone or anything else.
"By the Gods," the mother closest to me breathes. "But that would mean that you're the....you're..."
"Heathens we didn't recognize you without..." The third mother glances at the two cloaked figures still standing by the opposite wall, and I follow her gaze, now confused as to what they have to do with this.
And what does having been the one to save them mean for who I am? Why wouldn't they recognize me? What is it I'm missing that would clearly give away who I am? And who am I?
There's a tap on my shoulder and I turn to see who it is, only my head doesn't move to do so. I try to turn my neck, but it doesn't budge, and I realize why. It's Tanith, telling me to walk back over to them. I want to stay, to ask them questions that no one else will give me the answers to. I want to see through their eyes, into their memories, about what it is I did and who I am. There's another tap on my shoulder, but this one is harder, more like a stern poke.
I turn back to the women, glad to find my head capable of moving again. "Uh...I have to go, but the wolves will stay here until you ask them to leave." Awkwardly, I back away from them, glancing once at Víđarr and Kallisté. They both find my eyes with their own bright ones and then bow their heads to me in unison. The action has me tangling my fingers together, my thumb rubbing against my palm as if tracing an invisible line. All it touches is smooth skin, and for some reason, it bothers me that it's so sleek.
I don't mind leaving the snow and returning to the warmer halls, as I have somewhere else I've been wanting to go. Branka doesn't know of my wishes, and I haven't told her because I know that she'll lock me back in my room. I need to do this because all the memories I have all have one thing in common, and it's the only thing in them that makes sense. It's the only thing that gives me even the slightest feeling of hope, and I'll order her or any one of them to go sit in the snow and not move until I get back if I have to. This is the only thing I have to hold onto right now, and I'm not going to let it slip through my fingers.
"Clarice!" I look up at the sound of my name, the only name I seem to have stocked in my hollow head. I don't even know the name of the girl running towards me, don't recognize her nor know why she's so quick to reach me. A man dressed in the same dark clothing and cloak as the other two from outside follows her, though his steps falter and halt when I look at him.
What is it with people and being surprised that I'm here? I'm currently only partially certain that I'm not a ghost.
The girl stops in front of me, a polite smile on her face and a book clutched to her chest. The gesture, for some reason, feels familiar. "You look ten times better than you did a cycle ago."
"What?"
She ignores my surprise and scans my whole body with critical eyes. "Though I would recommend eating a bit more, you're still rather skinny for your normal body fill."
"I-" She saw me a cycle ago? I look to Branka beside me, but she doesn't do more than shrug her shoulders and shake her head with a working jaw. She doesn't know how to explain my relationship with the girl.
"Did you see Levi and Mira? They've been dying to see you and the wolves, and it's been a heathen trying to distract them for the past few days."
Mira, the girl from earlier, and her brother - Levi, I suppose. I look at the girl more closely and recognize the same nose and smile she shares with the other two. She's their elder sister, who's likely close to her teen ages, though her voice sounds far more mature.
"I, uh..." Movement catches my eyes, and I look up to find the cloaked man had drifted closer. Unlike the other two outside, his face has gone unreadable, though he seems to be avoiding looking back at me.
"Don't mind Reynald," the girl says. "He was just walking me back to Claritia's room for my afternoon lessons with her."
Reynald...Claritia...Nothing. Blank. A labyrinth of questions with no answers.
She must see me trying really hard to dig for a memory as she softens her eyes and lets her smile fall a little. "Don't worry about trying to remember, it'll come back soon enough. My name's Roseia, by the way, though Darius has recently started to call me Rosie. I'm partially against it, only because I know that Lance used to have a girlfriend named Rose. It feels weird to even think about the name when he's nearby."
The static feeling in my chest starts to shake faster. Roseia. Darius. Lance. More names with more questions with no answers. This is beginning to make me want to forget everything and just climb back into my bed.
This was a bad idea.
"I think that's enough for now, Roseia," Rohana whispers. The girl looks at me again, though this time her eyes seem to slowly get glossy. It instantly slaps the slowly rising panic in me away, allowing that other feeling of protectiveness to suddenly return.
"Are you alright?" I ask, watching as she bites the inside of her cheek.
She nods quickly, eyes averting mine. I don't buy her answer and try to move my head to see the face she's trying to hide behind her hair, but she quickly wipes away the tears that fell and sniffles once. "I'm fine, just...I know it's a lot to take in, and hearing all of these names and seeing all these people...it can be hard, but just know that they all care - a lot, for your wellbeing. I care - a lot."
"Why?" I ask curiously.
"Roseia-"
"I want to know, Rohana," I tell her, frustration seeping through my words.
Rohana doesn't argue further, and I look back to Roseia, waiting. "You saved everyone's life, the price for such a deed was your suffering and memories, and you didn't blink twice before paying it. Everyone just misses you, is all, and they're all surprised to see you because it's been over two months since they last did. Also..." She steps closer to me, standing on her toes to whisper. "No one's seen your face before. You used to have a mask that would cover half of your face to hide your identity, so, you know...it's weird to see it now."
"Wh-Why would I cover my face?"
"I - uh - I think you should ask someone else that, someone who could better answer your questions."
"And who would that be?"
She bites her lip, clearly debating giving me the name of the person who could give me the answers I need - and I do need them, lest I go crazy and start pulling out my hair.
She opens her mouth to tell me, but the sound of voices stops her, and we both turn toward the source. A group of men is walking our way, twelve of them in golden armor with swords at their hips. Another wears the same dark clothing as the man Roseia called Reynald, but his is entirely more terrifying. I don't think there's a single space on his body that isn't armed. It's the piece of cloth that catches my attention, however. It covers the lower half of his face, and his hood is up, but I can still his eyes, the strange familiarity of them. It's a mask like Roseia described me having, and a dozen more questions jump into my head.
One of the Ginerva curses behind me, but I barely hear it.
The last man is dressed in the finest clothing, a circlet sitting atop his head that looks all too fitting on him. It's he who finds my eyes first, he who stops dead in his tracks when he does. The men in armor behind him scramble to avoid running into him, spewing jokes and some curses one would've thought consequential for using towards a person with a crown on his head. I go to ask Roseia who he is, but there's a sudden twist in my stomach and a large beat in my chest that has me freezing in place.
There's...something about him that just...it feels...right. Why does he feel right? I can't explain it, this deep gut-wrenching feeling that - for some reason - makes me want to draw closer to him. Something inside me wakes, snaking its way about my body and begging to be closer, to be touched, by him. Why does it want to be touched by him? It whispers his name, though I can't hear the word. It sings it like a bird's song, rising and falling with the rise and fall of my chest, using the beat of my heart as its pace.
Why do I know him? Why do I feel just him?
Someone touches my arm, but it doesn't feel like more than a brush of air on my skin. "Mater, perhaps we should-"
"Clarice?" Reluctantly, I drag my eyes away from the crowned man and look to the one who called my name. He's one of the ones in the golden armor, his light brown hair looking as if he's run a hand through it several times already. His jade green eyes keep glancing at the entirety of me frantically as if searching for some kind of fault. I look at the others, now realizing that they all now have the same expressions. Even the masked one I can tell is gaping, though he clearly walked closer to me before stopping, unlike the others. They all still keep their distance, a few shifting on their feet as if deciding whether or not they want to get closer.
I don't know any of them. I don't see something that would give me even the slightest of tingles that I'm heading in the right direction. Nothing but that still twisting feeling in my stomach pulling towards the crowned one. I look back at him, but his eyes are closed and his head is bent as if in concentration. His fists are clenched too, the knuckles white, and something glows on the inner part of his wrists that I try to tilt my head to see, but I can't.
The masked man moves again but stops when I look at him. "How are you feeling?"
His voice...it sounds like I've heard it before, but it's hard to focus when my whole body is trying to pull elsewhere. "Okay."
He nods, glancing between his friends and me. "Uh...You'll have to forgive them. It's been a while since they've, um..."
"Seen me?" I offer. He nods, and we both look back to the still gaping men. Confusion hits me when I spot a few of them with watering eyes. Who was I to them? Why was I so important that they now cry at the sight of me? Who am I?
"Well, um...have fun on your walk, and uh...try to stay out of trouble." I can't see his mouth, but something tells me he's attempting to give me a reassuring smile. I give him a faint on in return, hoping it'll do enough for him.
He stares at me for a moment longer than necessary but then shakes his head as if ridding of whatever thoughts were plaguing him and walks back to his group. The crowned one doesn't have to be told twice before he's walking away, near setting a pace to that of a run. That thing in me seems to whimper at his actions, and I suddenly feel hurt by it.
The others barely notice him, still looking at me. The masked man works quickly to turn their heads and push them back towards the way they came, his fellow cloaked friend who was with Roseia helping to get them into motion.
"Roseia," the masked man calls, a hand outstretched to her. She gives me another smile before walking to him. She takes his hand and clutches it tightly, his hand I can see squeezes hers back in return as they all walk off.
I turn and walk away myself, trying not to let myself fall into an abyss of questions that no one will answer for me. No one, but perhaps there's someone who could give me something. Branka and Rohana will throw a fit, but I can handle their rage and deal with their lectures later, I just...I need to hear something - anything, and they can't give it to me. I can't explain it, much like a lot of things in my life now, but he's the only one asides from Visha and Xaxias that's clear in my memory. The others are there too, but they're useless now.
Víđarr told me where to go, and as I approach the door to the Moonrise Tower the Ginerva take notice, and they all mist in front of the door to block my path.
"Where do you think you're going?" Rohana asks.
"Do you all always ask questions you already know the answers to?" I retort dryly, not up for a fight but somehow desperately looking forward to one at the same time.
"You're not going anywhere near that man," Branka states.
"I can go where I please, and I'll be perfectly safe."
"Yes, you will be. Right here."
"The only reason he's not rotting in a cell is that none of us can get past your pets," Nilsa adds.
Pets.
"Way to go Nilsa." The door opens the next second, two wolves stepping through until they're blocking out the Ginerva's path. I ignore their protests and walk through the door to find a good dozen of them all laying down. One of them stands when I start for the stairs, and he takes the lead and shows me the way.
The Ginerva mist in behind me, all mumbling their curses. I ignore them, along with Branka and Rohana's demands for explanations. I've been locked in a room for a cycle, my head hurts despite its emptiness, and despite their best efforts and good intentions, they're not giving me the comfort my heart has been begging me for. It's that indescribable feeling you get when you don't know what you want to do. You don't want to eat, you don't want to talk or listen to music, or draw, or paint, or do pretty much anything - but you need something. You have this unknown ache for something, and I couldn't figure it out.
The happenings of the last half an hour changed that, and I found that feeling to be comforting. I wanted comfort, someone to tell me or show me that I'm truly not alone. Sure, the Ginerva have been playing their games with me and sharing their ridiculous past stories, but they haven't gone through what I have. They have their own tragedies and tortures of their own, but they all remember who they are, they all have had control of their minds, even Tanith. I haven't. I don't. No one understands that kind of torture, no one understands that it's not the muscle aches, or stings of pain that strike me that are the reasons for the hurt. It's the loneliness - the true loneliness.
So this is where I've come to rid of that feeling. This is who I've come to see.
The wolf stops in front of a closed door and steps aside to let me in. I don't wait for myself to question if I'm making the right decision and turn the handle. I enter the foyer, finding a disheveled Will sitting on the ground, his back to the far wall. He looks like he hasn't moved for a cycle. Hasn't showered, hasn't eaten, and barely kept hydrated. He's more of a mess than me, and that's saying something.
His head straightens when I walk in, and at the sight of the Ginerva behind me, he doesn't do more than give an expectant sigh. He's waiting to be tortured, waiting to be punished for what he did to me. Rohana and everyone else looks prone to such actions, which only irritates me to a boil.
"Wait outside."
"Mea Regina-"
"I won't say it the same way twice," I warn, desperate for some fucking fresh air - and I don't mean that literally.
Despite my power to pretty much make them do whatever it is I want them to, I don't like to. It's controlling, and possessive in certain ways. I know what not having free will feels like, and I'm the last person to ever be the one to take it away, especially to people who have done nothing but be kind to me.
I don't see their faces as they all very slowly shuffle out, but I can feel their threats to kill him come off of them in waves. Will just lowers his gaze to his wrists, as if waiting for chains to appear. I'm half surprised there aren't any on him already, but I would've broken them off anyway, so I suppose it's better that there aren't.
When I don't hear the door shut I kick it closed, which only makes Rohana curse from the other side. The walls are thin, too thin to have a conversation without them, and their enhanced hearing eavesdropping. Two wolves appear from one of the doorways that leads to the likely untouched bedroom, and I don't have to say a word out loud or in my head before their bodies pool into puddles, and then those puddles move until they cover the entirety of the door and the wall. Will watches with narrowed eyes as the water starts to freeze over into a graciously thick layer of ice. They will likely still hear us talking, but it'll all be muffled and incomprehensible.
"You smell like shit," I say, taking a few steps toward him. His whole body goes still on my third step, so I stop and keep my hands at my sides. "I'm not here to hurt you."
"Why not? I deserve it."
"Yes, you do, but it's not anger that I need to release." Now he visibly concentrates on not looking at me. Men and their one-track minds. "I told you I wasn't going to hurt you."
"That wouldn't necessarily hurt, now would it?"
"I suppose not," I confess, trying to shake off both of our implications.
He lets out a frustrated sigh as he pulls his knees up and pushes the heel of his hands into his eyes. With me, I'm more of a suffer in silence kind of person. I don't let my feelings show for the sake of the Ginerva, smiling to give them hope that I really am getting better and that my thoughts aren't mud and storm clouds at best. Will...he's been too distant from the ability to let his emotions show, even when he's screaming inside for them to do so, for a tear to fall.
"Are you getting the headaches again?" I ask, walking forward until I'm standing between one of the two blue couches and the small table in between them.
"No, it's just...How'd you do it?" His hands fall from his face and he stares at me with drawn brows. "I've been fighting for years, doing anything and everything I could think of to kick him out. He's always such a tight grip on me, so how did you push him out?"
"It's not a permanent fix, and it should be wearing off soon."
"What should be wearing off?"
I don't answer him, and instead, pick up the glass plate still full of days-old food. I carefully dump the bread, cheese, and sliced meat onto the table, and then take the plate and drop it onto the ground, making it shatter. I see Will fidget in my peripheral, but I ignore it and pick up one of the shards, slicing it across my palm to draw blood.
"Clarry-"
Still ignoring him, I pick up the empty cup and squeeze my cut palm and let my blood spill in. I keep going until the white bottom of the cup is no longer visible and a good amount of my blood sits in it. Dropping the shard, I take the cup and walk over to him to offer him the drink. "Drink up."
His face visually pales in seconds. He stares at cup with raw fear. "What-"
"You asked me how I kicked him out, this is how."
He shakes his head, still not taking the blood from my hand. "I don't understand."
Sighing, I give up trying to hold out the cup to him and plop down beside him against the wall. He shifts so that our bodies don't touch and buries his hands in his lap, his knuckles white with his grip on each other.
"I can't really explain it. I don't remember much from my escape, but I do remember being able to feel everyone's blood. I don't know how, but I did. I could feel who's was who's without looking at them, which is how I knew that his blood, Xaxias's blood, was in your system. He's been feeding it to you for years, it's how he's been able to control you, to make you do things you never wanted to."
"Like torture you."
"Exactly, so in order to kick him out, I had to take control of you myself. Víđarr had a vile of my blood with him when he attacked you that day, and all he had to do was empty it into your mouth and force you to swallow. In other words, he had to make you near drown. It's why you fell unconscious."
"Is that why I woke up with a coppery taste in my mouth?"
"Mmm-hmm. Víđarr spread my blood throughout your system, and since it had been a while since Xaxias last gave you his blood, it was easy to overpower him. His blood should be out of your system now, but your body is used to surrendering to it, so I wouldn't be surprised if he still had some kind of hold on your mind. My blood is the only thing keeping him out, which is why you need to drink it."
I offer him the cup again, but he still doesn't take it. "You said that in order to get him out, you had to take control of me yourself. Does that mean that...I'm now under your control."
I open my mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. The realization in his eyes is enough to make me second guess my decision.
I stare down at my still open and swelling palm, watching as my blood gleams in the sunlight coming through the windows. Neither of us knows true freedom. I was kept in a cell for months, he's been kept in a mental cell of his own for years, only ever able to pick the lock every now and then, and only for a short amount of time before someone shoved him back in.
Will may never again find himself free of any chains. Either he's chained to me or to Xaxias, and Gods know that he'd give anything to be untied from either. I would give anything for him to be untied to either. He doesn't deserve to be, even if he did break my bones and make me scream several times a day.
But that's the thing, it wasn't him. It was Xaxias, holding his mind and moving his limbs like a puppet. Will didn't have a choice, and he only broke free of his demonic master a few times, and those few times he did were to talk to me. To apologize to me. My friends may hate him, they may want to give him his own broken bones and refuse to heal them afterward if only to see him bleed and scream himself, but I don't.
Okay, some part of me does, but how would torturing him, in turn, make me any better than Xaxias? I have better things to use my time for, better things to hear and witness and plan. I'm not like Xaxias, I'm not like Visha or Charles and Eleanor - and I never want to be. I want to be better, I want to be the reason that light wins in the end, the reason that people smile rather than stare wide-eyed or avoid my gaze. I know what alone feels like, I'm not about to cast that scathing isolation onto him. Anyone who says otherwise can suck it for all I care, I'm not theirs to control.
"I wouldn't do that, Will," I tell him quietly, staring at my blood glisten in the cup. "I'm not going to make you do things you don't want to do. My blood being in your system is only to keep others out, it has no other purpose. Unless you piss me off or do something irrevocably stupid, then I might make you sit in a chair and not move or talk, but that's as bad as the punishment will go."
"Why?" he asks again, this time with less opposition and more fatigue.
I look at him, confused. "Why what?"
"Why not punish me more? I told you, I deserve it."
"And I told you, yes, you deserve it, which is why I'm not going to give you the satisfaction of giving you the pain you want. You beating yourself up for years to come is punishment enough, and I'm sure you've already secured a personal sauna in the underworld."
He huffs a laugh, but still, no smile appears. I offer him the cup again, seconds away from pinching his nose to force him to open his mouth and pour the blood down his throat. He must sense my impatience, as he takes it out of my hand with a glare. I watch as he looks down at it, a snarl pulling at his face.
"You know, I'd prefer kidzra," he says.
I have no idea what kidzra is, but I play along and say, "I'm sure you do."
He closes his eyes and then tips the cup back. A smile tugs at my lips at his contorted face and choking coughs. "I know. I taste like the glittering afterlife."
He wipes his mouth with the back of his arm. "More like the shit of demons." I refrain from punching him in the arm as he continues to try and clear his throat, though the temptation is strongly there.
Smiling plainly to myself, I lean my head back against the wall and close my eyes. I feel...better. Not necessarily cured or back to normal - as I don't remember what normal feels like - but simpler. At peace. There are no conflicting thoughts rummaging in my mind, there's no worry about whether I'll ever remember the people who look at me in question. I don't feel anything, but I also don't feel empty as I did before.
"You should bandage that." I glance down to where he gestures and test out my hand that's cut, eyes closing again as I feel the skin pull and oppose the movements.
"Siscilla can heal it later."
The sound of something ripping has me opening my eyes. Will tears the bottom of his shirt and then motions for me to give him my hand. "I'm not going to have you walk out of here with a bleeding hand. Those women already hate me as is, and I'd rather not push them to chop off my head."
"If I walk out with a bleeding hand bandaged in that piece of cloth that likely has a dozen diseases crawling all over it, then yes, they will chop off your head." He tosses the cloth to the side with a defeated grunt. "Though I do appreciate your concern."
I close my eyes and rest my head back again, and we drift into silence.
I can't explain why, but I like the small banter, I miss it, for some reason. The retorts that want to leap off my tongue pop up the second his words finish, and though it'd be interesting to let one do so, I can't help but ignore them and say anything else. The whole "glittering afterlife" thing kind of just flowed out, but after that, my words feel...new. Uncharted. It's like a map. The retorts are what I've already drawn out, the jutting cliffs, the grass valleys, cricketing forests, and celestial mountains. The simple conversation and the easy words are what lie beyond the oceans. I don't know what they are nor why they're yet undiscovered, but all I know is that they're inviting. Challenging.
It's like I no longer want to make snark remarks or test a person's patience, I simply want to make it easy, to make it new. I suppose it's a complicated thing to explain, but it must have to do with my missing memories. With the old me.
"Clarry?"
"Hmm."
"Why'd you come here? Why come to see me?"
I sigh and open my eyes, staring at the ceiling but not really seeing it. "Because...because my head's spinning. It screams and whispers, laughs and cries, but I don't where it's all coming from. I have few memories to hold onto, none of which go back further than a month. Because everyone else will stare until I smile, and then they'll stare at that smile and wonder how true it is. It's never true. I can't feel anything because there's nothing to think about and feel. I can't go one minute without questioning everything, including myself. I can't talk to anyone because they won't understand, no matter how I try to express it, they won't understand. I could draw a whole mural, write a whole book, and still, they'll question me. They'll want to cuddle me and tell me that everything's going to be fine. They'll want to surround me and keep me within their protective circle and fight off anything that may come to harm me, but that's not what I want. That's not what I feel - or at least what I think I don't want to feel. I feel..."
"Stuck," he finishes. "Like you're spinning in a circle, trapped in a loop of the same repeated words, the same images, nothing or no one to pull you out because there is no one else. It's just you in a dark corner, fighting off your thoughts that aren't your own, and yet sound exactly like you."
"Exactly." Our gazes meet, and then they stay there. There's no desire in our eyes, no longing for taste or touch, just...understanding. "That's why I came here, because I've been alone, and it's all I remember. I remember feeling detached from the entire world and everyone in it, except for when you'd come to me and we'd talk. That's what I remember, not what happened before or what came after, but how you'd fight so hard to even get a few minutes to tell me that you were sorry. That you'd rather slit your own throat than continue on."
"But you're not alone now, Clarry. You have a whole castle filled with people who care for you."
"No, Will. What I have is a castle full of people I don't know. I met so many of them today. They told me that I saved them and that they were grateful. Some looked at me with curiosity and awe, others with fear and longing. One looked at me blankly, like he had no emotions to express. All of them knew me - the old me. They searched for her and scanned my body as if waiting for me to do something or say something to tell them that I wasn't completely lost and that there was still hope to once again see the person they loved.
"I told you, I'm alone. For all I can tell, this castle is empty save for you. Even the wolves don't feel like my own sometimes, no matter how many times I touch them or call their names. Everyone walking the halls has footsteps and a purposefully beating heart. Me...I feel like a ghost. I feel like even though I ran through those same hallways, my feet never really touched the ground. I'm alone, Will, and a part of me feels like I always will be despite my best efforts."
"Trust me when I say, you've never been alone, and you never will be," he responds without hesitation.
He waits for me to answer, to say something he so badly wants to hear. Instead, I let my head fall to his shoulder. He stiffens beneath me, but I couldn't care less if he's uncomfortable. I need this, and whether he wants to admit it or not, he needs it too. We're all each other has right now, and he's the only one I remember clear as day aside from Branka, and technically speaking, it was Hira I spoke to, Hira that I remember.
"Trust me when I say, Will, you've never been alone either."
"I wish I believed that," he whispers, sadness echoing through his words.
I slide my hand into his own and slowly pry it from his other one. I'm honestly surprised when he lets me, and I savor the warmth of his palm in mine before he decides to try and pull it out of my grasp. "If you were alone, then you'd still be with Xaxias."
The silence is a lullaby rather than a blade pressed to my throat now, and I let it start to pull on the exhaustion that's gathered up within me. Will relaxes tentatively too, which only makes my eyelids heavier and my breathing slow. My thoughts disappear, and then there's just the feeling of him nearby. He pulls his hand out of my own, and for a second I start to awaken again, missing the comfort it brought, but then his other hand replaces the first and I close my eyes again. His arm comes around me, pulling me closer. I obey and curl deeper into his side, finally feeling like there's hope for the both of us.
Darkness pulls me under and the world disappears into sweet bliss, but I still hear his words, still feel their rumble in his chest and echo off of me.
"If it means never being alone again, then I will gladly drink your blood and befall your words, Clarry."
Like he had a choice.