I can feel the wind hitting my face, a cold, persistent draft that sneaks through the frame and slips beneath the collar of my nightclothes, tracing a thin line down my spine. It leaves goosebumps in its wake, prickling across my arms.
Short bursts of wind rattle the nearby window next to my bed, the glass vibrating with a thin chatter. Each tremor sends a faint shiver through the wooden frame, a dry creak threading through the quiet.
The curtains stir restlessly, brushing against the wall with a soft hiss, their fabric grazing my knuckles when I lift my hand.
It’s a sound that makes the walls of the room feel a lot thinner than they actually are, as if the storm is pressing its ear to the castle.
At least, that’s what I think is my bed in the castle. The sheets beneath my fingers are far too smooth, too finely woven, nothing like the coarse fabric I remember. The mattress does not sag in the middle, and it does not smell of dust or age.
It can’t be the academy one, since we couldn’t open the doors to begin with. I always found it kinda dumb. Their reasoning was that they didn’t want students sneaking out at night and causing mischief, tainting the academy’s reputation.
But then again, almost everyone who lived in Kala were families of the students, so it’s not like it would have mattered too much. By process of elimination, it has to be the castle.
It’s not hard to confirm, especially since I can hear the sounds of galloping horses, the steady rhythm of hooves striking cobblestone and echoing up toward the window.
Shouts of vendors drift through the air in uneven waves, their voices layered over one another as they advertise fresh bread, polished trinkets, and morning catches still glistening from the river.
The words blur together at this distance. Though even at the market, I suppose the words would blend together regardless.
When the breeze shifts, I can even catch the faint scent of the cool water from the canals.
It all feels so serene, so calm, so at home.
I wouldn’t mind staying like this forever, in a world where I don’t have to wake up.
Just staying in my own bubble, so that I never have to risk my life ever again. An image of his face flashes in my pitch-black mind, like someone flashing a lamp in someone’s face to startle them.
Why am I showing myself this? I can see Albo in my dreams. At least there, he’ll be awake and interacting with me.
Yeah, that wouldn’t be so bad…
But…
That means our interactions will never be real, and I’ll never get to see us grow together. Because at the end of the day, I’m not just trying to save him for his sake, but for my own as well.
I’m sorry, Albo, for being so disingenuous. But I’m a selfish person. I need you back so I can return to being who I used to be. I hate being the center of attention. I hate talking to people. I hate having to lead in my own decisions, not knowing if they’re going to be good or not.
I need someone to guide my life. I’ll do the same for you, but it just isn’t the same without you. I miss you, and I want you back.
So for your sake and mine, I need to wake up. If I don’t, then we’ll both be alone forever, never touching each other’s hands anymore, never seeing each other, and never hearing each other’s voices.
I don’t want that. I want to live, and I want you to live. I want us to stay alive and enjoy what the world has to offer.
My eyes slowly slide open as I’m met with a familiar roof. I scan the room with the very little movement my body allows me to make. Despite being wrapped in blankets, I still feel cold. The feeling isn’t on the outside of my skin, but internal.
There’s a certain “hollowness” that inhabits my body, like I’m just a husk and the soul that once inhabited me escaped while I was deep in slumber.
But I know that’s not how souls work in the slightest. If it really did leave my body, then I wouldn’t even be alive. It’s an obvious statement to make, but I feel like what I need most right now is some regularity in what is currently my irregular life.
I hear hurried footsteps running out of the room, the sound of heels clicking on the stone floors just beyond the doors. If I had to guess, that was probably a maid. They had, or have, Albo under surveillance all day, every day. So it’s not strange to assume they’d do the same for me.
Still, I feel like something about me is missing.
Using my arms, I try to prop myself up, pushing my back against the bedframe behind me, but when I do, the right side of me feels off balance, and I pathetically plop back down onto the bed. I must be really out of it if I can’t even pull this off.
For my second attempt, I kick my feet downward, using the momentum until my head touches the frame. I shift my body upward until I enter the position that I was intending to reach initially.
I then try to reach out for the window to my right. The wind is nice, but the outside world is a bit too noisy for my liking right now. My eyes glance over the bustling city, almost as if the attack never even happened.
It’s obvious that there are far fewer people than before, and it seems like there are fewer merchants entering the city, most likely out of fear.
But being the capital of trade, there was no way the city was going to be bare and empty even after an attack like that.
I grin before reaching out for the window frame with my right arm, but nothing touches the fine piece of oak and glass. It’s as if the window teleported when I tried to reach out for it, making the space between us infinitely longer.
I try again, but nothing physically touches it. Changing my tactic, I extend my left arm, which ends up touching the wooden frame just fine. With a gentle push, I close the window, halting all noise from the outside world.
Curiously, I stare at my left hand, opening and closing my palm like I’m squeezing a ball. Sliding my left arm back, I turn my head to face my right.
But I’m met with a gruesome, tragic realization.
My memory isn’t all there, but I remember, after firing my spell, a sudden burst of red liquid splashing on my face.
I thought it was weird that I couldn’t feel the soreness after casting such a strong spell. A part of me assumed that it was some kind of magic that replenished my physical health while it was active. But honestly, the answer was much simpler than I had imagined.
The place where my right arm is supposed to be was now empty.
Time freezes and my mind stops.
My shoulder seems so lonely, so devoid of purpose now.
I feel a sharp weight on my heart, like an iron hand squeezing a fresh fruit.
Cold tears stream down my cheeks, cutting warm trails against the chill in the air before turning cool themselves.
They gather at my jaw and fall, darkening the fabric in uneven spots. Suppressed whimpers slip out of my lips, as I squirm in discomfort.
Each breath I take shudders on the way out, catching somewhere deep in my chest as I’m forced to confront this harsh reality, the consequences of my actions.
My left hand reaches to comfort my right shoulder. I keep missing my shoulder, my palm brushing empty air where weight and shape should be.
The motion is clumsy and unbalanced. I eventually only manage to reach its destination by sliding my hand from my neck downward, fingers dragging over skin that feels too sensitive, too exposed, until they find the slope of my shoulder.
I clench it as hard as I can, my short nails biting through the thin fabric while I run my fingers through the wrapped bandages. The cloth is rough and uneven beneath my touch, layered tight, still faintly smelling of medicinal herbs and iron.
It’s warm there. Too warm. Each press sends a dull throb radiating outward, a reminder pulsing in time with my heartbeat.
It feels wrong. It’s as if my hand teleported into a different part of my body, not realizing that it’s actually my shoulder.
I don’t feel intense pain, or even get the urge to scream.
So I just cry, the blanket slowly forming a soaked puddle of my own tears and snot.
I keep trying to move my right arm, and I can feel it moving, but it’s just… not there.
My teeth clatter as I try to bite down on my lips to calm myself.
Why is this happening to me? Why can’t things just go my way?
For the first time in my life, I do something truly meaningful, and I still lose.
Why does it always end this way? My parents, Albo, and now this.
I wanna die. I shouldn’t have woken up. How am I supposed to continue now?
I’m so dumb. I’m so dumb.
It’s my fault for thinking I could be something so much more. The book warned me about something like this happening, so why did I just ignore its warnings? Did I really think I was any different from the other mages who died using arcane magic?
I’m so dumb. I can’t take it anymore.
The door slides open slightly before bursting the rest of the way open. Heavy footsteps sprint toward me. I turn my head away. I don’t want to show anyone my pathetic sight, but leaving me no choice, a hand yanks my body, pulling my head toward the person.
I can’t see the person’s face because of my overflowing tears, but I can see their hair.
Is it Albo? Please tell me that somehow, some way, the curse I broke also set him free. I want his voice to be the first thing I hear. I want his hug to be the one to embrace me. I want him to reassure me that everything I’ve done and what I’ve lost wasn’t in vain.
No, it’s not him.
Before me, is the ever so familiar, red-blond hair.
Her golden accessories flaunt in front of me as the silhouette embraces me in a large, warm hug.
My feelings tear open from my heart, splitting something fragile inside me as I bury my face into her large dress.
The fabric is thick and finely woven, softer than it looks, and it muffles the broken sound that escapes my throat.
I clutch at it without thinking, my fists twisting into the folds. Because if I don’t, I might fall apart. Pouring all of my grief into her, my tears soak into the cloth, leaving dark, uneven stains that spread slowly but surely.
Thunder cracks as rainfall impacts the roof and window harshly, drowning out my sorrow.
A warm hand caresses the top of my head, gentle and careful not to hurt or overwhelm my frayed senses. Her fingers move in slow strokes through my hair, smoothing it down, tracing the curve of my skull with deliberate patience.
The touch is steady and heat seeps from their palm into my scalp.
“I’m here, Saya. For now, cry to your heart’s content,” the silhouette says, her tone sweet as honey. Her high-pitched tone is unmistakable. I’ve heard it relentlessly for the past three years. Even if I tried my absolute hardest to forget, I doubt that day would ever come.
“V… Veronica…”
I call out her name.
Right now, I don’t care about our past.
I just need someone to cry to.
“I tried… I did my best…”
“I keep trying… But no matter what I do….”
My head burrows deeper into her. Anymore and I might just tear through her skin and organs.
“How come?! Is it because I’m some mudbiter like you always say?”
“Am I supposed to stay on the ground?! Be a bug forever?”
“I can’t be humble, I can’t be greedy, so what can I be?!”
Veronica’s arms grip my shoulder, pulling me back.
Our eyes meet, her gaze filled not with the usual ferocity of anger and hatred, but with determination and annoyance.
“YOU IDIOT!”
Her voice pierces through the damp air like a hot knife running through butter.
What does she mean by that? I thought she hated me for being myself. Why is she coming up to me now and telling me to be myself? I don’t get it. I don’t understand how this girl thinks. Nothing is ever consistent with her.
“What you did, it was splendid! It was amazing!”
“Lose? Fail? Look around you!”
She grips my head with her hand, twisting it to face the window.
“This city still stands because of you. If you call that losing, then you have expectations that will never be met so long as you live. I never once told you to reach such heights, just that you become more proud of yourself.”
“So look! Look upon your achievements and rejoice!”
“BE PROUD!”
Her shout rings in my ears as I flinch reflexively. I’m so used to her hitting me when she yells at me, so my body responds with the appropriate warning and defense mechanism.
“Sons with their fathers, daughters with their mothers. A sight that would not have been achieved without you.”
“They don’t smile now, but they will.”
“The Hero of Atrila, the young mage born with a deficiency, but was willing to sacrifice her future and her own body for the safety of others.”
“That is who you are.”
“Don’t let your missing arm simply be a missing limb.”
“But make it a trophy, an acknowledgment of your bravery.”
“Because even if you don’t see it as such, the people here will.”
“I’m proud of you.”
“And I’m sure when he hears about it, he will be as well.”
She lets go of me, my head falling back down. With my left arm, I try to wipe the tears away, but no matter how many times I do so, there’s no end to them. If only I had two hands to do this with, it would be so much easier.
“Don’t despair, Saya, it doesn’t suit you.”
Her palm slaps my back, thrusting my upper body forward. When I turn back to face her, I see a vibrant smile on her face, one filled with genuine joy and happiness. Is she happy that she’s alive, that I saved her?
No… She’s happy for me.
Because for the first time ever,
she said my name.
Goodness, royals are such a pain in the ass. But for once in my life, I’m happy that she is as well. Maybe I can’t forgive her for all she’s done to me, but for this one time, I’m glad to have someone to share this moment with.