"That's great," Hov said, his voice tinged with genuine relief. "You haven't used your vision that much in your life because of your powers, so I was genuinely worried that you might have difficulty seeing things now." His sharp eyes, filled with both concern and relief, flickered over me, meticulously scanning me from head to toe as if to confirm my health with his own eyes.
His tone was soft but carried an undercurrent of gravity that I couldn't ignore.
"You lost a whole lot of blood, child. But thankfully, those twenty-five days were enough for you to regain most of your color. You were so pale before, almost grey," he added, his words trailing off as he seemed to relive the memory. He shuddered slightly, shaking his head as if to dispel the image. "Gods above, it was like watching the life drain out of you. But look at you now. You're here, and that's what matters most. Can you stand?"
Biting my lip, I hesitated. The idea of standing felt monumental, like scaling a mountain, but I forced myself to try. Slowly, I shifted my weight, pushing my exhausted body to sit upright. Pain flared immediately—sharp, fiery aches that radiated through my limbs and chest. I gritted my teeth, determined not to let it overwhelm me. Sliding my legs over the edge of the bed, I carefully planted my feet on the cold stone floor, though my legs trembled under the effort. Hov noticed my struggle, his movements quick but gentle as he extended a steady hand to help me rise.
"I guess so," I murmured finally, my voice raspier than I expected. Each word scraped against my throat like sandpaper, betraying my exhaustion.
A proud smile stretched across his face, his expression softening as his eyes crinkled at the corners. "Where does it hurt?" he asked after a moment, his tone warm and patient, as though he had all the time in the world just for me.
I glanced around the room, acutely aware of the tension radiating from the others who lingered nearby. Emilia stood closest, her expression neutral but her presence oppressive. The rest hovered further back, their silent stares weighing on me like stones. Their energy was suffocating, an oppressive force that made it impossible to think clearly. Taking a deep breath, I forced a polite, calm smile, determined to mask the frustration bubbling under my skin.
"Could you all please leave us alone?" I said finally, my voice even but carrying enough authority to command their attention. "You're free to go do whatever you want. There's no need to stay here when none of you actually want to be. It's hard to concentrate when every single one of you is emanating bad energy and, quite frankly, a strong desire to see me dead." I let out a small, humorless laugh, trying to soften the blow, though the words hung heavy in the air.
For a moment, no one moved. Then, as if on cue, they began to file out one by one. Their footsteps echoed in the quiet chamber, growing fainter until the heavy door closed behind the last of them. The silence that followed was palpable, thick and almost suffocating, but at least the oppressive energy was gone. I exhaled slowly, the tension in my shoulders easing now that we were finally alone.
"It must be hard for you, child," Hov said gently, his voice laced with understanding as he reached out to hold my hand. His touch was warm, grounding, and far kinder than I deserved. The kindness in his smile, the quiet warmth in his gaze—it was almost too much to bear. My chest tightened, and for a moment, I had to fight the overwhelming urge to cry.
"Kind of," I admitted softly, my voice quieter now, almost lost in the stillness of the room. "But I can't blame them. It's not easy to deal with my curse." I hesitated, unsure if I should say more, then decided to push forward. "And seeing how you don't hate me," I added cautiously, my tone lifting slightly, "I take it you're not from here?"
He chuckled softly at that, the sound light and almost comforting—a welcome contrast to the tension that had filled the room moments before. "You're absolutely right. I'm not from here," he said, confirming my suspicion. "I'm from a small kingdom in the United Kingdoms. But I got the opportunity to work here as a physician thanks to my skills, and I couldn't pass it up." He patted my hair gently, his touch filled with an almost paternal affection. "I'm glad I did, though. It means I get to take care of you." His smile widened slightly, and for the first time, I saw something that looked like pride in his expression. "I'm Doctor Hovhannes Papian, but you can just call me Hov."
I couldn't help but smile back, the warmth of his kindness chasing away some of the lingering chill in my chest. "I'm Nsomi Eileithya D'Arcy," I replied, the familiar cadence of my full name feeling strange on my tongue after so long. "You can call me Thya."
His brows lifted slightly, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Does anyone else call you that as well?"
The smile on my face faltered, my gaze dropping to the floor. I sighed, the weight of his question pressing down on me. "Not anymore," I said softly.
That was enough for him. He didn't press further, and I was grateful for that. The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable—it felt understanding, as though he knew better than to force words when none were needed.
"So," he said after a moment, his voice light but still laced with concern. "Where does it hurt?"
I took a deep breath, trying to pinpoint the worst of the pain. "My entire head, my chest, my bones... everywhere," I confessed, my awkwardness drawing a quiet laugh from him. His laughter was a balm, a moment of levity in an otherwise heavy conversation. I looked at him, my expression sobering slightly. "Can you tell me what happened?"
His face changed immediately, the humor replaced by a grave seriousness. "Yes," he said with a slow nod. "The Queen found you here unconscious, with a deep wound on your head caused by the moment you hit your head on the sharp edge of the table. It was severe—so severe you almost didn't make it. You were on the brink of death."
Oh. That was... worse than I thought.
"Great," I muttered dryly, attempting to lighten the mood, though I couldn't quite mask the unease in my voice. "But it's okay. I'm not going to die now anyway."
He didn't look reassured. If anything, his concern only deepened. "I heard that you saw your own death, child. Is that true?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as though speaking the words too loudly might make them more real.
I nodded, my throat tightening at the memory. "Yes," I said simply.
He sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly as if the weight of my words had settled on him. "Gods above, that's... that's too much for a kid your age to handle. I can't even imagine how you must be feeling."
"It's not easy," I admitted, my voice trembling slightly despite my attempts to keep it steady. "I won't lie. Knowing other people's deaths is one thing, but knowing and seeing your own... that's something else entirely." I sighed deeply, leaning back with his help until I was lying down again.
For a moment, there was silence. Then, out of nowhere, he asked a question that caught me completely off guard. "Can you see mine?"
I blinked, staring at him in disbelief. "What?"
"Can you see my death?" he repeated, his tone steady but serious.
I stared at him, stunned. Was he actually serious? "You're not joking, are you?"
"No," he said firmly. "I'm already sixty-two. I've lived a long life, child. I don't mind knowing anymore. Besides, I want to be able to look at you—really look at you—without these dark glasses in the way."
"But what if you end up hating me like everyone else?" I whispered, my voice cracking slightly. "You're the only kind soul I've met in years. I don't think I could handle losing that."
He squeezed my hand tightly, his gaze unwavering. "I promise, in the name of the Gods and on my life, that I won't."
He seemed so determined, so sure of himself, that I couldn't bring myself to argue anymore. "Alright," I said softly, sighing in resignation. "Take off your glasses, please."
I closed my eyes, feeling the familiar chill wash over me. Five seconds later, I opened them again, meeting his steady gaze. The vision surged forward like a tidal wave, and I felt the cold tears of blood streaking down my cheeks before I could stop them.