Dylan sighed, sinking into the plush cushions of her favorite armchair. Her eyes drifted towards the ornate wall-clock, its polished surface shimmering in the dim light of the room. The pendulum swayed back and forth with a steady rhythm, its ticking echoing through the quiet chamber.
The man seated across from her dipped his quill into the inkwell, his expression focused as he jotted down notes onto the parchment before him. "I heard you took your exams for Faerchester," he said, breaking the peaceful silence. "How did you find them?"
"Surprisingly easy," she replied, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "I was more than prepared for them."
"Well, the exams for women were indeed designed with a focus on skills valued in high society," the man said, his quill still scribbling across the parchment. "What did they test you on? Embroidery, dancing, and etiquette?"
Dylan raised an eyebrow. "That's a rather limiting and presumptuous view of women's education, don't you think?"
The man stopped writing and narrowed his eyes at her. "I am your doctor, my lady," he said firmly. "While I admire your inclination to engage in discussions on social issues, I must remind you that our purpose here is for your health. Let us focus on that, shall we?"
The understanding and treatment of mental health had not yet been developed. As a result, people suffering from trauma had very few options available to them. Instead of receiving proper care and support, they were often isolated from society and left to deteriorate in terrible conditions.
Dylan herself was often bedridden due to her malnourished and weak childhood, but fortunately the Duke hired Dr. Peregrine as her personal physician to oversee her health. Dylan saw an opportunity in Dr. Peregrine's frequent visits and began to confide in him, treating him as her own personal therapist.
She twisted a curl around her finger as she asked, "What are your thoughts on dead animals? You know, the kind that are decomposing and have flies swarming around them?"
Dr. Peregrine raised an eyebrow at Dylan's question, looking mildly concerned. "Why do you ask, my lady?"
He thinks I'm making stuff up again, she mused to herself. He always thinks I'm lying to mess with him.
"Never mind," she said, shaking her head. "How can someone forget about something that's been bothering them? Do you have any suggestions for what can be done?"
The doctor let out a sigh, slightly exasperated by her persistent questioning. "One suggestion is to keep oneself occupied or to actively address the issue at hand."
"Address the issue?" she muttered to herself, checking the clock once more. She was eager for the check-up to be over. "Can we wrap this up soon?"
"Have your eating habits improved?" he asked, ignoring her previous question. "The Duke, His Grace, told me to check in with the kitchen staff. They said you hardly touch your meals."
Dylan shook her head. "I'm still struggling with my appetite," she admitted. "Despite switching to a lighter diet as you recommended, it's still difficult."
Deep down, she knew her trauma was far more severe than what she was letting on. Dylan often had nightmares and struggled to get a good night's sleep. She also found it hard to eat, which had resulted in her developing a trauma-related eating disorder.
If I want to avoid my own death, I need to get better, she thought to herself. It's better to talk about it than to lash out.
"I see," the Doctor said, jotting down a few notes as he spoke.
"What have you been writing all this time?" Dylan asked curiously.
"Your new treatment plan," he replied, placing his quill down on the desk and meeting her eyes. "You'll be taking nutritional supplements starting this week. Since you're not eating, you're not getting the recommended amount of important nutrients from food alone."
She frowned. "And what about my other medication?"
"The astragalus root—the herbal supplement you've been taking for quite some time now? I want you to continue taking that since it enhances the immune system and reduces inflammation."
"Fine," she mumbled, wrinkling her nose at the thought of the unpleasant taste of the medicine. "May I be excused now, Doctor?"
"That's not all," Doctor Peregrine said, running his fingers over his eyebrows with a strained expression. "Starting tomorrow you'll need to start moderately exercising. Your body is very weak, so it's important to exercise and build your strength."
"W, wait," she stuttered, practically choking on her drink. "You want me to exercise?"
Dylan's body was so frail that even walking around the Duke's mansion was hard for her. One time, when she was thirteen, she attempted to climb a tree and ended up being bedridden for a week. She narrowed her eyes at his ludicrous request, unable to imagine a scenario in which she didn't fall ill as a result of exercising.
"Lightly exercising four or five times a week is ideal, with sporadic rest days, of course."
I won't do it, she thought to herself. There's no way he'll know. I can just lie.
"Very well," Dylan said, grinning from ear to ear. "I shall do my best."
"I'll be giving this to His Grace so he is aware of your new treatment," Doctor Peregrine said, waving the sheet of parchment back and forth. "Don't even think about not doing it."
Crap.
Dylan sighed. If the Duke was involved, there was no way she would get away with skipping treatment. Once the Duke learnt of her eating habits, he ordered the maids to make sure she ate. As a result, they constantly pestered her, even when she asked them to stop.
"I'll be taking my leave now," he said, rising from his seat. "If you have any concerns feel free to send me a letter. Though, I know you will no matter what I say."
Dylan chuckled softly—it was a sound that reminded him of spring.
Whenever she had troubles or nightmares, she'd rant about them to him through letters. He found it odd at first, but soon grew accustomed to her bizarre behaviour. He didn't realize that her letters were silent calls for help.
"Then goodbye," he said with a bow, clutching onto his leather satchel filled with medical supplies. "Please stay in good health until our next meeting."
"Yes," she smiled softly, "you as well."
***
The astragalus tea the maids had brewed for her had an earthy flavour with a hint of sweetness to it. Although Dylan didn't particularly adore the taste, the brown liquid was drinkable and suitable for all seasons.
She was given the chance to choose between liquid extracts, capsules, powders and teas. After experimenting with it for a while, Dylan realized she preferred when the maids simmered slices of the root in teas and soups, since it added a pleasant sweet taste.
"Dylan," the Duke said from across the table. "You're not drinking your medicine."
"Ah," she let out an exasperated sigh and then sipped the lukewarm liquid.
The Duke sat there, sipping his tea and puffing a cigar. A slight breeze ruffled his hair and carried the smoke away. His locks were the colour of the sky at midnight, a dark brown bordering black. His complexion was worn down with age, soiled with wrinkles that told tales of his youth.
"I'm really worried since"—He rubbed his brows with a frustrated expression—"your health isn't the best. I've already spoken to the headmaster about it, so if you're feeling unwell, you can skip classes."
Starting school next week, she thought. That's when the events in the novel kick off. Everything's happening so fast.
"Thank you," she replied, "I'll do that then."
With his right hand he traced the rim of his teacup. "I also arranged for you to start swordsmanship lessons with Sir Conan," he said. "Your first lesson will be tomorrow."
Dylan opened her mouth to speak, but then quickly shut her lips as if she was unsure of what to say. Dylan's biological father was an excellent swordsman. Whether it was intentional or not, the Duke was pushing her to want the same things her father did.
"Father," she finally said as a cloud of grey smoke left his lips and rose towards the sky. "I don't even think I can hold a sword."
The Duke frowned, scrutinizing her bony wrists with his eyes. "You'll start off by building your strength for now. I heard there's a swordsmanship club at the academy. Your brother is involved in running it, so I already let him know about your condition and he agreed to help you train."
"F, father," Dylan said with a shaky voice, clutching the handle of her teacup tightly. "Although I am thankful for your guidance, I'd hate to bother brother Axil. I'm sure I can exercise on my own."
"I doubt you'll work out at all," he glared at her, uncompromising. "If you're worried about what happened the day of the exams, know your brother has already been scolded for his actions."
How can you downplay such a thing? she asked silently in her head. You've completely turned a blind eye to how Axil feels about me. Your son murdered innocent animals, and you're acting as if a slight reprimand is enough.
"Anyways," he continued, calling over a maid on standby with a simple gesture of his hand. "It's already been decided, so don't stress over it, Dyl. You should take your medicine now."
Dylan swallowed nervously, observing the tray of nutritional supplement pills that the maid had set out on the table. She frowned, washing down the white pills with her now cold tea.
"You'll need to take several maids with you and visit the academy doctor regularly," the Duke said, rubbing his chin as he spoke. "I also want you to come home on weekends, since the academy grounds aren't far from our manor here in the capital."
Dylan nodded. "Yes, father."
"I'll be taking my leave now, child." He stood up from his seat. "Rest well."
He whispered something to a maid who was stationed nearby. The Duke cast a warm look in his daughter's direction before leaving Dylan alone under the afternoon sky with nothing but her fading sanity to keep her company.
"Milady," the maid called after some time. "The Duke has asked me to remind you to eat."
Dylan looked up at the blue sky overhead and stretched out a hand in an attempt to grab the faint afternoon light with her fingertips. As the days passed, she felt her mind slowly regressing into a state of lunacy. Dylan closed her heavy eyelids, picturing the face of her loving mother.
Mom, I don't want to die just yet, she thought as she gazed at the clouds. I feel like I'm going insane. I wish you were here.
"Lady Dylan," the maid called out to her. "Are you ill? Should I call for someone?"
"Mmm." She muttered, fluttering her heavy eyelashes open. "Ah, I must've been lost in thought. I'm fine, there's no need."