The room smelled of antiseptic and roses.
My skull pulsed like a second heartbeat.
Each throb sharpening the dissonance between memories.
Her tears on my cheeks.
The weight of a sister's promise.
The cold marble stairs of a mansion that wasn't mine.
The doctor's fingers probed my bandaged temple, clinical and detached.
but his emotions betrayed him: a flicker of doubt, the acidic tang of panic.
He thought I was broken.
Maybe I was.
"His condition is stable, Lady Evander," the doctor said, adjusting his spectacles.
"The bleeding's stopped. But the mind… it's fragile after trauma. Delusions, confusion—these aren't uncommon."
Delusions.
The word slithered through me.
My hands fisted the silk sheets—too rich, too foreign—as I stared at the woman claiming to be my mother.
Her grief was a live wire, sparking and raw.
Every ragged breath she took vibrated in my own lungs.
"I don't want stability," I rasped, the voice too deep, too polished.
Sylvas's voice. "I want my sister. Where is she?"
Lady Evander flinched as if struck.
"Sylvas, please—"
"You keep saying that!" The words tore free.
Zeke's desperation clawing through Sylvas's aristocratic cadence.
"I felt her—heard her—when I died! She held me, she—"
Then the vision struck me without any warning:
Papery hands guiding mine, tying shoelaces in clumsy loops.
A laugh like wind chimes.
"You'll get it, Zeke. Just slow down."
But her face… always blurred, always slipping away.
The doctor cleared his throat, his calm demeanor cracking under the weight of the room's tension.
"Lady Evander, perhaps… perhaps your son has gone insane. The trauma, the fever—it's not unheard of for the mind to fracture under such strain."
Insane.
The word hung in the air, heavy and final.
Lady Evander's face twisted, her grief flaring into rage.
She turned on the doctor, her hand lashing out before anyone could react.
SLAP.
The sound echoed in the room.
The doctor staggered back.
his cheek reddening.
but his expression remained eerily composed.
"How dare you!" she hissed, her voice trembling.
"You will not speak of my son that way. He's confused, yes, but he's not—he's not—"
The doctor straightened, his voice cold and measured.
"I apologize, my lady. But denial won't heal him. The mind is a fragile thing. If he's fixating on a sister who doesn't exist, it's a symptom, not a reality."
"She exists!" I shouted, my voice cracking. "I felt her tears, her hands—she was there when I died. She promised me—"
Lady Evander turned back to me, her face crumpling.
"Sylvas, you've never had a sister. I don't know where this is coming from, but it's not real. Please, let us help you."
Her words were a knife, twisting deeper with every syllable.
I could feel her desperation, her fear, her guilt—not for some hidden sin, but for the fall.
For not holding my hand on the stairs.
"You're lying," I whispered, my voice breaking.
"I know what I felt. I know what I remember."
The doctor stepped forward, his tone softer now, almost pitying.
"Memories can be… unreliable after trauma. The mind creates stories to fill the gaps. It's not your fault, young master."
"Stop it!" I lashed out.
My hand swiping at the air as if I could push his words away.
"I'm not imagining her. She's real. She's—"
My voice faltered as another wave of pain crashed over me.
The room spun, and I slumped back against the pillows, my strength draining away.
Lady Evander rushed to my side, her hands fluttering over me like frightened birds.
"Sylvas, please, calm down. You'll hurt yourself."
I wanted to scream, to fight, but my body betrayed me.
My limbs felt like lead, my vision blurring at the edges.
"I just… want to see her," I murmured, the words barely audible.
"One last time."
Lady Evander's tears fell onto my hand, warm and heavy.
"I'm so sorry, Sylvas. I don't know what to do. I don't know how to fix this."
The doctor sighed, his emotions a tangled mess of frustration and pity.
"We'll monitor him closely. Rest is the best remedy for now. But if these… delusions persist, we may need to consider other treatments."
"No," Lady Evander said sharply, her voice cutting through the room.
"You will not experiment on my son. He's been through enough."
The doctor nodded, though his expression remained grim.
"As you wish, my lady. But I urge you to prepare yourself. The mind doesn't always heal in ways we expect."
The room fell silent, the weight of his words settling over us like a shroud.
I closed my eyes, the image of my sister—Zeke's sister—flickering in my mind. Her face was still blurred, her voice fading, but her presence was undeniable.
She's real, I thought, clinging to the memory like a lifeline.
She has to be.
But as the darkness crept in, I couldn't shake the fear that maybe,
just maybe, the doctor was right.
Maybe I was losing myself.
———
I lay in bed, my face buried in my arm, trying to hide the tears.
But they came anyway, hot and unstoppable.
I could feel my mother's sadness like a weight on my chest, heavy and suffocating.
Lily, the servant girl, stood by the door, her pity sharp and uncomfortable.
I didn't want their feelings.
I just wanted the pain to stop.
"Ugh, Mom," I choked out, my voice breaking. "It hurts. It hurts so much."
Her hands fluttered over me, unsure where to touch.
"Tell me, my love, where does it hurt? Please, tell me."
"No!" I wrenched away, fabric tearing beneath clawed fingers.
"Not my body. In here." I slammed a fist against my chest, the impact shuddering through fragile bones.
"I'm... I'm cracking open and all my pieces belong to different people!"
The mattress dipped as Mother gathered my thrashing form.
Her tears fell like acid rain on my temple. "You're my sweet boy, my only—"
"I'm not!" The scream left me raw.
Zeke's anguish ripping through Sylvas's cultured vowels.
"Your son died on those stairs! I'm just... just a ghost they stuffed into his empty skin!"
A choked gasp from the doorway.
Lily stood frozen, linen bandages spilling from her arms.
Her pity curdled into something darker, heavier - the sharp tang of fear.
Mother's arms tightened like steel bands. "Don't speak such filth! You're fevered, confused—"
"I remember things," I whispered, my voice cracking.
"Things Sylvas never knew. I remember... I remember a sister. She was there when I died. She held me. She cried for me. But she's not here. She's gone, and I don't know why."
Mother's hands tightened, her nails digging into my skin.
"You never had a sister, Sylvas. You're imagining things. It's the fever, the fall—it's made you confused."
"I'm not confused!" I cried, pulling away from her.
"I know what I remember. I know who I am. Or... or who I was. I don't know anymore."
My head was spinning, the room tilting around me.
I felt like I was being torn in two, pieces of Zeke and Sylvas fighting inside me, neither one winning. I just wanted it to stop.
"Make it stop," I sobbed, curling into myself. "Please, make it stop."
Mother wrapped her arms around me, her tears mixing with mine.
"I'm here, my love. I'm here. We'll fix this. We'll make it better."
But her voice was shaking, and I could feel her fear, her doubt.
She didn't know how to fix this.
Neither did I.
The image of my sister was flickering in my mind.
Her face was still blurry.
Her voice faint.
But I held onto it like it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, not sure who I was apologizing to—Mother, Sylvas, or the sister I couldn't remember.
"I'm so sorry."
The room grew quiet, the only sound the soft rustle of sheets and Mother's quiet sobs.
I wanted to say more, to explain, but the words wouldn't come.
Instead, I let the darkness pull me under, hoping that when I woke up, the pain would be gone.
But deep down, I knew it wouldn't be.