Morphine was the most magical invention man had ever created. You would swear that truth from the highest mountain until your final days for all to hear.
The entire first day after whatever landed you on bed rest was extraordinarily peaceful. Dr. Yeager opened your blinds first thing in the morning. It was the most beautiful day your town had boasted in months. The weather was balmy and bright. A slight breeze swept through the guest room as finches tweeted prettily just for you. The sun drenched the walls and floorboards in heated waves. Even though the light stung in your eyes whenever the morphine's effects waned, it was marvelous.
Despite all the warnings, you felt snug and healthy every time you awoke from little naps. Your body swam in the warmest summer spring while a thousand kind, gentle mothers wrapped you in their arms, gave you sweet embraces, and rubbed your back.
Only a day ago, you would have hated the thought of a needle piercing your skin. Now, you craved each pinprick. The medicine did nothing to blow the fog obscuring your memory but eased any pain that throbbed whenever the time stretched too long between doses.
Dr. Yeager scrutinized your wounds and brought you broth, oatmeal, water, and tea around the clock. He looked worried each time he came in, but you couldn't understand why.
What was there to worry about when life felt so wonderful? Sure, you bled a little, but the doctor stitched it up well enough.
Time healed all wounds, didn't it?
You heard Mrs. Yeager's hushed voice in the hall every so often. She never peeked in.
Eren sat with you in the evening but never spoke. He just lingered, monitoring each rise and fall of your chest, going long stretches without blinking. Zeke appeared briefly around sunset but only stared from the doorway as you happily sipped tea. The two brothers left the room and had a quiet exchange in the hall. Only Eren returned a few minutes later.
Mr. Kirstein vanished entirely. You didn't mind. You were just happy to rest. You could see him whenever he was available.
As the light faded under the tree line, the house's aromatics shifted from its usual woodiness to some heavenly smell. All sorts of herbs, spices, meats, and vegetables snaked through your sinuses until your mouth was an ocean and your stomach was a storm. However, when Eren brought you only a bowl of thick broth, you were disappointed.
Or at least you were until the spoon touched your tongue.
This new soup might have been strained of all the exciting smells, but you could taste their former savoriness stewing on the silverware. The mouthful tasted precisely how the house smelled: otherworldly.
Once you finished your portion, Eren also handed you a tall glass of water and didn't leave until you gulped every drop. You were sad to wash away the broth's flavor, but the saltiness made you crave a beverage. Even something as simple as drinking water felt sensational.
Within a half hour, you fell asleep. It was dreamless. It was pleasant.
It was a wonderful day in your book. Being catered to like a little castle-bound princess was how you wanted to spend the rest of your life. The following morning was more of the same boundless euphoria.
What would you do when Dr. Yeager's magic serum was gone? It made life so easy to enjoy.
You noticed a folded blanket pile resting neatly on a distant dresser after Eren showed his troubled face, carrying your breakfast on a platter. At first, you assumed the sheets were because he had slept on the floor, as he always did when you visited. However, you remembered he had wandered from the guest room to his bed before you fell asleep.
Also, they weren't Eren's blankets and pillows.
They were yours from your bedroom.
And when you gazed further to your side, the most beautiful bushel of tiger lilies plumed on the nightstand in a plain, clear vase. Whoever had brought them plucked only the brightest specimens from your garden. They became more beautiful each second your uncovered eye studied the orange petals.
You wondered how your quilt and flowers traveled so far to the Yeagers' home, but you didn't dwell on the thought long. You relaxed into the familiarity of your far-off home. It would be nice to go back there—to lay in your bed as Niccolo cooked all sorts of foreign foods. You would show him the cookbook Connie brought back from his trip and go through the recipes together until you settled on the most exciting one for that night's dinner.
"Jean wanted me to give you these, too... when you woke up," Eren croaked out as he pulled up his stool and sat a foot away.
You tore your eyes from the flowers to inspect the leather-bound pages Eren held before you. It looked exactly like Mr. Kirstein's sketchbook, only less worn with time. Eren's thumb secured a pencil to the cover until you reached for the gift. Your hands shook as they took hold of the bindings. You snapped open the spine to find only blank leaflets.
"He said you could use it to write what you want to say. Until you can speak again," Eren explained.
Eren maintained a guilty, hollow expression. Taking the lead with weak fingers, you flattened the book and wrote down a few words. In your current state, each letter appeared more infantile than the last despite all the years you spent perfecting your cursive. It must be a side effect of the glorious medicine: your hands struggled to still themselves. Perfect diamonds did not exist. This was just one of morphine's minor flaws.
Are you alright? you scribbled.
You twisted the leather so Eren could read it. Slight amusement warmed his cheeks. He looked better that way.
"Is that your biggest concern right now? Of all the things you could worry about?" Eren asked. You nodded. Eren would understand your worry if he could see how terrible he appeared. "I am, but are you? Do you hurt? Can I get you something? More blankets? Nicer pillows? Water? My father?" You shook your head. "Good. Do you... do you remember anything? What happened?"
You thought hard, but memories were spotty. A hand, a smirk, but now you remembered falling into darkness.
I fell, you wrote.
"You fell." Eren sighed. "All this from a fall." A scoff of disbelief fell from his lips and onto the floor to writhe around in anguish.
He needed to try your medical cocktail. It would put a smile on his face as it did yours.
"I can read to you if you want," Eren offered. "I know you do the reading, but that isn't an option today."
You nodded, so Eren read well into the afternoon. The same family of finches from yesterday tweeted by the windowsill, acting as the pit orchestra for the play your friend put on.
Eren was a decent reader when he put his mind to it; he still had the occasional slip of the tongue or choppy phrases he struggled with in his youth. A few times, he had to reread a sentence when he put the wrong inflections or confused a word, but you enjoyed hearing him speak after yesterday's silence. His voice grew hoarse the longer he dragged on, but he still performed with a smile to lift your spirits as high as they could soar.
He was such a wonderful friend. You were glad you stayed for him.
For all of them. All the other Yeagers, Niccolo, Hitch, Marlowe, Mr. Smith, Levi, and the Springers. They made it all worth it. They made you so happy.
You were excited to visit them all in the upcoming days. Although your lips were sealed and your throat was tight, you would write them little notes and converse via letters in the sunshine. They could all sip lemonade while you stuck to honeyed water. You would have a stiff drink once your breathing stopped rattling with this horrible sound. Maybe even a few cigarettes, even if you hated the smell. Zeke would surely join you for that instead of feeling the room as hastily as he did yesterday.
Carla visited in the early afternoon with a small tin and a handful of bandages. Eren stopped reading as she made her approach, and her hands quivered so terribly. She reeked of coffee and tobacco, which slightly put off your desire for a light. You assumed her jitters were from too many hot cups and strong puffs so early in the day.
It's funny; Carla never smoked. She did take a few puffs of Dr. Yeager's cigars around the holidays or at weddings, but other than that, she swore off the little sticks because the smell offended her nose, too.
"Hi, sweetheart," she whispered, and the smell grew stronger. "I brought you something special. It's a comfrey poultice. It'll help with all the bruising. May I put in on you?"
Carla couldn't hold eye contact with you. She only stared beneath your chin. You couldn't understand why.
You nodded and pushed your back off the headboard and pillows that kept you upright to sit up straight and tall.
"Eren," she called for her son, "Come here and gather her hair. Sweetheart, I need you to flatten your back so the leaves stick to your skin."
Eren hesitated but eventually stood with his mother. His thumbs dragged along your nape to gather the locks that snuck under your bandaged skull. You fixed your straight back and scooched forward to recline into the pillows. You barely felt Eren's hold or Mrs. Yeager's gentle presses into your neck. Her tips focused near your windpipe but fanned out over your front collar. Once she finished, she took her cotton strips and wrapped them snugly over every inch she had turned sluggish with wet, green leaves.
"Much better. Wouldn't you agree, Eren?" Mrs. Yeager asked.
"Yeah. Better," his voice wavered as he dropped your hair.
Then, a door slammed somewhere in the house, and the two heads in front of you snapped around. You picked up familiar tones; they were sharp and impassioned with fury.
"Where is she?!" a voice echoed through the entire house.
Did your ears deceive you? Was it Niccolo? Was he home already?
What a pleasant surprise! You could finally wish him a happy birthday!
"Eren, go. Stall him," Carla instructed
Eren fled out of the room with panic tightening his movements. Mrs. Yeager looked at your neck again, and thousands of thoughts formed behind her brown eyes. She was visibly distressed—her breaths grew more labored as her pupils darted around the room.
You heard Zeke, then Eren, then Niccolo all speaking downstairs. The first two voices remained indecipherable, but Niccolo's resonance carried clear through the house.
"What do you mean you let her go alone?" Niccolo blared. "How could you be so fucking stupid?!"
You had known Niccolo for half a decade, and he had never used profanity. He stubbed toes and hit his head on cabinets with only little grunts, and he sent you upstairs each time a swear slipped from your tongue because the vulgarity upset his sensitive ears. To hear him say such a nasty word so boldly nearly shook your unbothered state.
Nearly.
But you went back to happily turning your head and staring at your flowers while the people downstairs chatted. The lilies were so pigmented this summer. Last year, some leaf beetles nibbled on the dazzling petals until their sunset hue was ugly, bruised, and full of holes. It was nice to know your luck in the garden was growing strong this year.
"I don't understand?! No, you don't understand!" Niccolo screamed from downstairs, anger shaking the walls. "You can all live your lives however you please, and the worst that happens is a slap on the wrist or a few bruises! She makes one mistake, takes one wrong turn, talks to one bad man, and runs the risk of swinging from a tree or slumped over in a goddamned alley until crows pick her apart piece by piece! If you can't understand that simple fact, you have no business being in her life! Now, get the fuck out of my way!"
That pulled you away from the romanization of your bouquet.
Why would you end up in a tree? You stopped climbing long before you met Niccolo, and crows always liked you. A few would leave you little branches or bottle caps offerings after you spilled seeds on your windowsill. They would never eat at you. They wouldn't even know where to start.
Zeke did ask his father the other night whether morphine caused hallucinations. Maybe you were one of the unlucky few who experienced them. Was this one?
Maybe all last night was an illusion—from Sasha to Carla's speech to your mother.
But it felt real when you reflected on all the images stained into your memory.
You must be at least imagining Niccolo's crazy talk; that much you knew for sure. You relaxed your lids and sunk into your sheets. You never wanted to leave this bed. Maybe it was the medicine or all the work you pushed through all season, but it was the most fabulous place you had ever had the joy of staying. Your delusions would not rip you from paradise.
"Out of my way, Jean! You have no right to stop me from seeing my child!" Niccolo yelled again, and after a brief pause, he shouted, "Move, or I will move you myself!"
Then, there was a scuffle, more shouting, glass breaking, and several footsteps thundering up the stairwell. Why did your hallucinations have to be so loud while trying to rest? You looked to Mrs. Yeager in annoyance to see if she sensed your frustration, but she watched the door nervously.
Was it real? Was someone coming up to see you? Why else would she have such a reaction?
"Stop him," she whispered under her breath.
The guest room door swung open and slammed against the wall with such force that the windows shook, the dresser across the room tremored, and a mirror fell from the wall only to shatter on the wood. Niccolo's actual body appeared at the entrance, and Mr. Arlert's face popped around Niccolo's shoulders. Mr. Arlert's hand slapped against his open mouth while Niccolo stood locked in the frame.
You smiled, pretending you weren't irked by their noisiness.
Mr. Arlert fell from view. A thud followed.
"Jesus, Armin! Are you alright?" Eren exclaimed from behind the wall.
Niccolo didn't flinch when the body crumpled on the floor. Although your vision was blurry, you could feel your guardian lit fires over you with only his stare. He inched in slowly. His pale face was blotchy with flushes. The closer he got, the more visible his tears became.
Why did he look so upset? You took a fall. It wasn't the first time you slipped. It wouldn't be the last.
Everything was a whirlwind after that.
Niccolo left the room. A muted conversation floated downstairs until the front door slammed. Niccolo returned later, lifting you onto your feet to usher you out and down the stairs. Carla remained motionless by your bedside. Niccolo helped you through the house, as your legs were too wobbly to function. When you reached the bottom of the stairs, another picture frame was shattered on the floor, so you carefully stepped around the glass shards.
Where did your boots go? Was there no time to grab them?
When you passed the Yeager's parlor, your eyes connected briefly with honeyed ones waiting above an armchair. Mr. Kirstein nursed the starting of a bruise swelling on his strong jaw as Eren attended to Mr. Arlert on the sofa.
You smiled at Mr. Kirstein, who followed each of your tentative steps out of the hall. He looked at you both shamefully and longingly, like it was the last time he would ever see you.
You couldn't understand why. You would see him when you brought his tea to his cabin in the morning. Your steps will be more sure-footed by then, and he could fill in any missing information from the other night.
Niccolo had to push you up the blocked steps into a closed carriage where Mr. Ness sat at the helm, and Zeke waited inside. Zeke tapped the tip of his shoe on the wood while waiting for you and Niccolo to sit across from him. The tapping continued for the entirety of the short journey home. You wanted to silence his restless foot, but you had forgotten your little book and pencil in your bed when you were rushed from the house.
The buggy stopped, and Niccolo ordered you to wait inside while he and Zeke prepared the house. They left you alone for what felt like a lifetime and a half. What were they doing that was so vital that you had to wait alone for so long? You just wanted to snuggle into your bed and let the medicine lull you to sleep again.
In the time after they disappeared, you did slip into a little nap on the carriage's cushions, only to be awoken again and carried from the safe, little box by Niccolo.
You waved at Mr. Ness when you stepped out. He tipped his bare crown to you, but his eyes were clouded with concern.
Why was everyone gawking at you like some exotic animal to be mocked in a zoo? Had you grown an extra eye since the last time he saw you? If anything, you had lost one with all wrapping covering your right eye.
It was just a fall, you told yourself.
How nasty could one little tumble be?
You entered your house. The windows were latched shut, and your house was eerily dark. No picture frames covered your walls, nor did metal platers accent your tables. Glassware was put away, and mirrors were covered or removed. A blanket muffled even the grandfather clock that ticked in the parlor.
Is this what Niccolo and Zeke had spent so much time doing? Gutting the brick, stone, and wood and robbing it of all its former warmth? And for what? Was this your even house anymore?
A prison replaced all the comfort of your old home.
Your room was mostly the same, minus your missing blanket and vanity mirror.
Niccolo helped you to bed, departed to steal the quilt from the guest room, and tucked you in snuggly upon his return.
"Don't move. Understand? If you need to use the outhouse or need something to eat... I'll find a bell," Niccolo said, leaving again.
You could make it outside to relieve yourself. You might have to crawl because stability, in this state, was questionable, but you didn't need Niccolo to carry you there. You weren't some helpless, broken child. You didn't need a bell to summon your subject to carry out your every whim, even if you did enjoy feeling like a princess.
So, why couldn't you speak? Why did each breath make a terrible wheeze? Why did every swallow feel tighter than the last? Dr. Yeager ordered vocal rest, and Mrs. Yeager covered your neck in comfrey. Did something happen to your throat? You tried your best to remember again.
A hand, a smirk, a fall... and a weight on your stomach. That's as far as your delirious mind would take you.
Niccolo returned with your bell and placed it on your nightstand. "I'll speak with Dr. Yeager again," Niccolo told you. "I'll ask for whatever medicine you need, and I'll take care of you. I'm the only one that can. You won't work for the rest of the summer, alright? Your only focus will be getting better. I can't... I can't risk losing you, too. I'll see to Armin for the time being until he finds passage home, and Jean will figure out his situation until then."
Niccolo fled from your room so quickly that you didn't even get the chance to welcome him home from the city.
But what did he mean by Mr. Kirstein 'figuring out his situation?' Mr. Kirstein would sleep in his cabin. Did Niccolo forget that he was a guest?
Niccolo was so silly when he was tired. All that traveling must have ruined his brain.
You sighed into the comfort of your mattress. Your home may be different and darker, but it was still home. Mostly, anyway.
As you drifted into sleep, you smelt something on your pillow. It was musky and earthy, like the forest after a harsh rain. The scent was so comforting and sweet as it kissed you to sleep. The smell mixed with whatever antiseptic stunk from your skin, but the acidic stench wasn't strong enough to tear away the affectionate feeling that swelled in your heart.
But there was another odor lurking behind the others.
You smelt blood.
You dreamt of blood, too. It dripped into your palm in a dim room. Little droplets plopped like the ticking of time.
It continued for hours—blood dripping into your palm until a pool welled up over your creases. And there was so much pain. Everything hurt. It was the worst sensation you could ever imagine.
You woke up, and the pain increased tenfold. Someone had jabbed every inch of your throat with a dull knife. The anguish only increased with each pump of your blood. Every limb felt freshly amputated, but the phantom pangs corrupted each nerve.
You tried to scream for help, but the cry got caught in your windpipe until you hacked up a lung. You just kept coughing until iron covered your pallet. Your hand slapped the death bell at your bedside, and you rang it so hard that it nearly cracked. Niccolo rushed in only seconds later, full of terror at your state.
"It's alright," he told you as he rubbed your crumbling back. "Dr. Yeager will be here soon. I told him to come at sunrise. Please, stay with me. You're alright."
Niccolo kept repeating the phrase over and over until your choking petered out.
You're alright. You're alright. You're alright.
The fire burning over each inch of your body told you otherwise. You were not alright. You did not just fall. No fall could do this to a body.
"Show the world what it truly means to be a witch," your mother's voice sang from the back of your memories.
You were fortunate that Dr. Yeager arrived before sunrise. He came bearing gifts of mustard paper sheets, a tall bottle of pepper tea, a thimble chloral hydrate, and more of that magnificent morphine. He jabbed you quickly when he saw the terror on your face, and your coughs evaporated into nothing but soft, struggling breaths within a half-hour. Once you were sedated, Dr. Yeager walked Niccolo through the treatment plan.
"Should she start to cough again, have her sip the tea. Do you know how to make garlic syrup, Niccolo?" the doctor asked.
"I do."
"Throw some together if she runs out of tea. It'll do the trick to calm her throat. The mustard paper goes on the back and chest to aid her breathing, too. Put a teaspoon of choral hydrate in her water before bed, and she'll sleep through the night until I can come by each morning. I'll worry about cleaning her wounds while you focus on keeping her in bed. No unnecessary travel under any circumstances."
Even in your compromised state, you were fully aware of the date. Today was the twenty-sixth–Sasha's birthday. Was visiting the graveyard considered unnecessary travel? It was necessary to you, but would anyone else agree?
"Very well," Niccolo agreed to the terms of your healing. "Can you send Armin here on your way home? Only Armin. I'll need someone I trust to look after her while I..." your guardian's eyes flickered to your neck. "While I visit with the Springers."
So, he did plan to leave you here.
That wasn't fair.
You had known Sasha much longer than him. She was your sister, not by blood but by bond. For Niccolo to abandon you at home while the Springers and the Braus gathered by her tomb chipped away at your already failing sanity. Not even the morphine could muffle the fury bursting from your deflated lungs. You wanted to protest—to fight against this exclusion—but you feared what speaking might do.
"I'll see to it," Dr. Yeager said, turning his head to regard you. Besides Eren and Mr. Kirstein, Dr. Yeager was the only person who held eye contact with you thus far. "Do you feel alright? Did you understand what I said? You need to rest."
His childish treatment only ignited anger in your war-torn heart, but you nodded in acknowledgment. The sooner they left, the sooner you could stew to your heart's content or fold into the medicine's effects.
Before afternoon reared its ugly head, Mr. Arlert appeared at your doorway. He held your vase of flowers from the Yeagers' house and the tiny black book in his hands. He didn't meet your gaze but still smiled with all the kindness he could through closed lids. Not long after, Niccolo came up to regurgitate Dr. Yeager's orders in case Mr. Arlert needed to act.
With that, guards traded posts.
Mr. Arlert set down the tiger lilies at your bedside and pushed the black leather onto your lap. He scanned the small bedroom for some time, taking in all the barely visible features under the candles' low light and sunbeams fighting to break in under the cracks in the curtains.
"You keep a very nice room," he finally said. "It suits you well. I appreciate the sage walls. I've always felt that greens as soft as these were such underappreciated colors."
Even if you could respond, there was nothing to say. Your mind was blank from the rejection jabbing your throat. You measured each inhalation, so they were slow enough to keep your windpipe stable but deep enough to keep oxygen running to your aggravated brain. Deep breaths would calm the mind. Eventually, the breathing and the morphine cooled the steam piping from your ears.
Mr. Arlert stood up and paced around your room. He paused at your bookshelf, inspecting your collection quickly.
"Would you like me to read something aloud? Eren said you might enjoy that more than silence. I could come by each morning and read a few chapters of whatever you like. How does that sound?"
Mr. Arlert's lips smiled cutely from the foot of your bed. If only the smile reached his eyes.
Instead of answering Mr. Arlert's request to read, you spread your page's bindings and scribbled out questions. This one was longer and more difficult to shape than your previous notes to Eren.
Where's Mr. Kirstein? When is he coming to visit?
Mr. Arlert's mask cracked into a thousand pieces. His undereye bags filled to the brim with exhaustion.
"Jean won't be coming, my dear. He's banned from the lake. At least until he comes to collect his things and we return to London. Eren's barred from visiting, as well. Niccolo's holding them responsible for what happened to you." Mr. Arlert's lips parted to exhale a hefty breath and forced a new smile before asking, "So, what would you like to hear?"
No book could distract you from Niccolo's sentencing, and no morphine could soothe the pain of a shattering heart. While you waited for your jailer to return from your sweet sister's memorial and for Mr. Arlert to finish reading whatever Jane Austen book he had plucked from your shelves, you turned your face toward the wall.
Every pent-up tear silently dripped into the blankets and pillows for no one to acknowledge but you.
A/N: Thanks for 5k reads imma go cry in bed :) also if you need something a little lighter I published the first chapter of an AOT/the office AU kind of story to make my heart less sad from this book. Finishing Summer's still my top priority, but all the angst hurt my soul.