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anathemafiction · 7 months

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These Mortal Pains — Part One

Light.

Warm sunshine glints past a clear window. Little specks of dust dance within its beam, and for a moment, you're mesmerized by them. Your eyes feel tired, and the effort to keep your eyelids open is only eased by the moistness at the corners. You can feel dry tears on your cheeks and your body...

You don't want to think about your body. Pain, you have found, can be avoided if it's ignored. For a little while, you want to ignore it.

Because you hear breathing and it's not your own — it's his. His darling, precious breaths. You turn your head on your fresh, plush pillow to find Hadrian slumped over your bed.

The small bench he dragged next to you is too short for his long legs, so they're tucked awkwardly beneath it, at an odd angle that must be uncomfortable. His broad shoulders slouch so he can rest his elbows on top of your linen and lay his head on his forearms.

His back moves up and down with each inhale and exhale.

His hair is in as much disarray as before but is clean now. His closed eyes have deep, sunken circles beneath, and his skin is paler than usual. He looks thinner than usual. His clothes are tossed as if put on in haste, and a large, purple bruise blooms from the side of his jaw up to his cheekbone. As Hadrian sleeps next to you, one of his hands loosely holding your gloved one, he's the perfect picture of exhaustion.

Your dry tears are replaced with fresher ones, and you swallow the sob that makes a knot in your throat. You don't want to wake him to misery, you want him to wake to love.

His skin is warm and rough, but his hand holds you gently. Even as pain shoots up your side, fast and swift like lightning, you raise an arm to sweep your fingers through his hair. Affection warms your chest as your nails drag along his scalp, and slowly, you feel him stir. Hadrian blinks, lips moving to soundless mumbles as you sweep a strand of brown hair from his temple.

And suddenly, green eyes are shining at you.

You look at each other...

And Hadrian bolts upright, nearly falling as his eyes widen beyond belief. "You're awake," he whispers as if sound could break you. Hadrian stares at you, his whole body frozen.

You try to smile, but what comes out is a grimace. "Barely," you rasp out, the words scratching the walls of your throat. You can still taste ashes.

Hadrian slowly rises to his feet. He starts breathing harder, and there's so much emotion on his face. His dear, precious face. "Hadrian," you're finally able to say. "Hadrian, you saved me. I—"

(...)

The door slides open, and a shadow slips inside.

Your eyes are used to the gloom, but the quick way it moves is hard to track. It comes closer to your bedside, and now the pale moonlight shines on soft brown hair and fair, smooth skin dotted with as many freckles as the night sky. But this one is a constellation that you've often contemplated its beauty. As equally beautiful as the pair of blue eyes that flash down at you and make you thank the heavens you get to live to see another day.

Thank nameless, forgotten gods you get to see her. Alessa stares down at you with an expression carved from stone as shadows make a home of her face. You stare back into the freezing depths of those eyes.

“You have awakened.” Comes her low voice, as beautiful as it is feeble. So unlike her.

You try to reach for her, but your whole body is in agony. "I had to," you rasp from bleeding lips. "I had to see you."

Alessa drops to her knees, and cold fingers ghost over your cheek, tracing your jaw, coming to hold the back of your neck. "Darling one," she breathes by your lips before pressing hers softly against yours. "I thought you would not awake."

You close your eyes, pressing your forehead to hers. "How long has it been?"

"Too long," Alessa answers, and you snap your eyes open because she weeps.

(...)

Alain runs as if his soul has jumped through his mouth, and he's doing his best to catch up.

The brown horse thunders towards him, but the nobleman isn't worried about being trampled under the hooves. He only has eyes for you. You're slumped over the beast's neck like a sack of potatoes.

No. There's blood. There's a lot of blood. Your face is drained of all color, and he's been a terrible servant, but God, let you not be dead. Let you not be dead. Let you...

It's funny how panic works. His mind is stuck on a pleading loop, but his body works on its own volition. "Stop the horse!" He orders the guards, but they're behind, and they're useless, so Alain does it himself. He opens his arms wide and jumps in front of the frantic beast. "Calm down! Calm down."

The horse is getting closer and closer. Alain can only look at you.

A trickle of blood pours from your lips.

He has never had his heart broken, but he feels something breaking now. He feels his whole chest caving, and he's panicking, but his body refuses to listen. "Calm down."

His voice comes out as if there isn't a cord wrapped around his neck. It comes out calm, and authoritative, and Alain doesn't think horses understand human language, but the horse comes to a stop right in front of Alain.

With the halt in movement, you falter... and then start to slide to the side.

Alain jumps, faster than he's ever been, and catches you mid-air. "Uff," he grunts but holds you safe in his arms. He pulls you closer, one hand supporting your upper back, and you're so close now that the stench of blood makes his eyes sting.

No.

He sees the bolt jammed into your side. His knees buckle. His arms refuse to panic. "Little sparrow," he whispers, and his voice breaks now. He wants to cup your cheek, to shake you awake, but he can't let go of you. "Little sparrow, open your eyes. Open your eyes for me."

You don't.

"Please," Alain whispers. He has never begged before, but he does it now. "Please, open your eyes."

"My lord!" Alain snaps his head up when the three guards reach him. They have sweat covering their faces, and two of them look with wide, panicked eyes at you hanging from his arms. "My lord is..."

One of them walks forward, raising her fingers to press them to your pulsing point, but Alain turns violently away. "Stay back," he barks, his voice dark. He would have slapped her if he had a free hand. "Don't touch him/her."

You're alive. There's no need to confirm it — it's an insult to. You're alive.

Alain regains his composure. "Have a clean room prepared," he orders her, voice a stone of cold once more. The guard hesitates, then nods and takes up running.

Alain turns to the second guard. "Call the healer. Pull her from her bed if needed. If she's not in the room when I get there, I'll have you both beheaded."

The guard, a young man, jumps and sprints back to the castle.

He turns to the last guard, a seasoned man with a dark, bushy beard. "Take the horse to the stable. Make sure they take care of him."

"Will do, my lord," the guard says but doesn´t rush to obey. Instead, he looks Alain in the eyes. "And then?"

Alain starts to walk, hugging you close. "Then get a party and find who did this," he says over his shoulder. He cradles your head against his chest. You're so cold. "And bring me their heads."

The guard spits on the ground and grabs the horse's reins. "Will do."

Alain walks with you in his arms, praying to a God who has never listened. My wealth for their life. My title for a breath.

You awake to warmth.

(...)

You awake to a gentle trickle.

Water splashes on water, and then, a cooling touch dampens your forehead. Water now trickles down your eyes, past your cheeks, and falls in little droplets to your bare shoulders.

Your body feels heavy and broken, but your ears are blessed with the gentle sound of crystalline water, and the soothing timber of a light, beautiful voice.

"Things fall apart."

Your lips quirk, for while your eyes are still closed, you immediately recognize the voice. Ysabella sings in a whisper so low that it's almost a hum, but wherever you are, it's dead silent, so you hear it as if she shouts.

A linen sheet covers your body up to your waist, and when you shuffle to the side, you feel the bandages wrapped around your middle. You don't feel any pain, but your tongue is dry and numb, your thoughts come slow and dragged, and you know you must be under the effect of some kind of drug.

Not that it matters. Because Ysabella keeps humming. "But nothing breaks like a heart," she sings, the trickling water accompanying like a band, and then, a wet, cooling cloth comes to press gently against your forehead. Bella hums, and pads your neck with little, tender touches. "Nothing breaks like a heart," she repeats in a lower, weaker voice as she cleans the top of your shoulders.

It feels so good, and sleep lulls you into its peaceful embrace, but at the last sentence, you snap your eyes open. Bella's voice sounded as heartbroken as her song, and that cannot be.

Light is scarce and warm. The final moments of a deep red sunset paint the two large windows that face the West. A white marbled fireplace has orange embers burning, and the door is wide enough to let two people walk side by side. But it's closed, and no one else is in the room except you and Ysabella.

"This world can break you," she whispers, turning away from you. She sits beside your bed on a simple, backless stool with three legs and a padded surface. She doesn't wear one of her long, beautiful gowns, but chooses instead a plain cotton dress that stops at her midcalf and has a deep round neckline. Her jewels are gone, her hair falls naturally down her golden skin, and from her profile, you can see that her lips aren't painted but are of her natural brownish, red color.

She leans over a thin table set beside her where it is an azure water basin, a fresh batch of bandages, and a yellow bottle of some kind of liquid. "It cuts you deep and leaves a scar." At the word scar, your noblewoman's voice cracks. Your chest clenches when you hear a sniffle, but Ysabella’s graceful hands don't falter.

Gently moving as if she dances to a trained routine, Ysabella brings the light blue towel she's cleaning you with to the basin and soaks it anew. "Things fall apart," she says, turning it carefully over. You wonder if the water turns red.

You wonder if her tears mix within.

Ysabella turns to you, and you can finally see the face of the world's most beautiful woman. And it looks exhausted. "But nothing breaks—"

Ysabella's eyes catch yours.

“Ah.” A gasp and the towel falls from her hands.

You have so much you'd like to tell her. But, when you crack your lips open, all that comes out is a stupid joke. "Am I in heaven?"

At the sound of your voice, Ysabella starts shaking. "You—you're not supposed to be awake yet," she says, dragging her chair closer. She lifts a hand towards your face but stops mid-air, brown eyes searching every inch of your face. "The healer said you'd sleep for at least three days. If— if you were ever to wake again."

"Damn, then it's good that I did, no?" you rasp out. Talking proves hard, especially with your numb tongue, but you want to soothe her.

Bella blinks, and tears fall down her cheeks. "You're not supposed to yet."

She's staring at you, her eyes glazed. Your smile dies when you realize she's in shock.

(...)

The entire pieces are available on Patreon!

Fire — Hadrian & Alessa

Wind — Alain & Ysabella

#these don't start from the beginning because the texts are so long #I picked some passages of each story #apologies if it doesn't make much sense #patreon #The Golden Rose #Hadrian #Alessa #Ysabella #Alain

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