"He's... he's not waking up," Eris said to them when they returned. They stood outside the room with the door closed, the hallways silent. "His heart is beating again, his—body is alive, but... he's still unconscious."
Mark clutched onto Dark's cloak, doubt weighing over him.
"It's going to be a while..." Eris continued.
Equinox sighed, and she nodded. "Can we go inside, at least?" she asked, and Mark glanced up, hope glittering in his eyes.
Eris nodded. "Just be careful," ze said softly. "His body is still damaged. It's not healing properly, like it should."
Mark figured it was the pill. That blasted Cherub.
Eris stepped aside to let them through, and Equinox opened the door and led the others inside. They all walked around the room, footsteps quiet, and settled about their own places.
Equinox stood near the bed, watching Dark; Voxe sat on the windowsill (where Mark couldn't stand to look); and Eyes sat on the floor, picking at the carpet. As much as Mark wanted to be as close to Dark as possible—to embrace him, be there for him—he had been instructed to keep contact at a minimum. Instead, he sat in front of the vanity desk, gazing at himself in the mirror.
He looked like a wreck. But then again, all of them did.
He gently ran his fingers along the cut across his face—deep, diagonal, and still oozing with blood. The slash started high on his cheekbone, slanting down, across his lip, and ending at his jaw. It would most definitely scar. A permanent reminder of what Antinstine did to him. Did to the others, to everyone.
Mark glanced over his shoulder, eyeing Dark's body on the bed. His breathing had come back—deathly shallow—but his chest rose and fell nonetheless.
His eyes landed on the cut across his throat.
It was closed, now—most likely from Eris' powers—but it left an obvious, stark scar. The cut looked unnatural without all the blood. Out of place.
Mark turned back around and ran his thumb over Dark's cloak in his lap, his expressions numb. He recalled the bodies in the infirmary, and all those mourning faces. Only a sparse few Evolveds had requested for Eris, wanting zem to bring their loved ones back. The majority of them, however, accepted the deaths.
If people would rather grieve their hearts out than revive their loved ones, then Mark really began to question if he made the right choice or not.
What if Dark... wanted to die?
His chest tightened, and he shoved the thought away.
He didn't want to think about that.
And then there was Prada.
They met, briefly, before they left the infirmary. He gripped onto a young girl's hand—Pearl—and when Mark had realized who she was, the guilt only ate up at him more.
He should have moved.
Would Pearl even understand the concept of death?
Why didn't he move?
Mark recalled Prada's hushed voice and his weary gaze. He didn't want Pearl to hear what they were saying.
He had asked about Cibil, and when Mark told him the news, his face fell.
They both glanced over at Pearl.
"She's just a kid," Mark had said quietly, searching Prada's face. "That Necromancer, Eris—they can revive her."
YOU ARE READING
STRANGULATE | Markicest
Fanfiction"I have tears from presidents, kings and queens, even servants. From them, I have power. Not the power of reigning over nations, but the power of knowing one's secrets." ➿ Mark, a renowned serial killer, murders celebrities of all kinds. He makes i...
