The Lonely Ones

Chapter Fourteen: His Name

Sleep is healing, or so Artemis has been told. But when he wakes, the wounds of the night prior ache almost as bad as the invisible wounds of his heart. Sitting up in bed, the boy stares at the hands in his lap. Dirt and blood stain his nails. Bruises litter his arms. They're tender to the touch, but he presses hard to remind himself of the consequences.

No matter what pretty face shows themselves next, remember to keep a distance.

There's foraging in the kitchen. A voice floats into the room, a delightful song of whispered words. They tickle Artemis' ears that recognize the tune, but it has been so long since he's heard it he questions whether he still sleeps. The floor creaks beneath his weight. He ties his eyepatch tight around his head, expecting to wake from a childish dream before he opens the door. But said door swings open to reveal Camellia setting the table with a bounce in her step. She dances to her own song, swaying like she once did at the mere thought of her husband coming home. Then she faces Artemis, who expects the light from her eyes to diminish, but it's the opposite.

Camellia beams. "Good morning, Artemis!" She sings, gesturing to the set table. "Or rather, good afternoon, oh dear--" She approaches him. He takes two quick steps back, hitting the entryway to his room. Camellia's thin fingers graze his bruised cheeks.

"Sweetie, what did you get yourself into?" She asks with the tone of a mother long since lost. "You poor thing. Come, take a seat. I need to look you over so nothing gets infected."

Camellia takes Artemis' hand. The last time she did that his hand was smaller than hers. Now she's thin and frail, fragile glass he can shatter. She sits him down at the table in front of a steaming plate of food. Meat he hunted himself and vegetables from their garden. More than she's ever done in years. Continuing to hum, she retrieves herbs and ointments from the cabinets, using them to tend to his wounds like this is an everyday occurrence.

"Mama," Artemis whispers, anxious that the title will break the illusion, but Camellia's smile only widens. "What's... what's going on?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're acting... different."

She hums, gingerly dabbing at the cuts on Artemis' arm. "Ah, yes, I suppose I am. I'm so sorry, Artemis. I was in quite the rut, wasn't I?"

Camellia peers up at him, eyes alight as they once were. "I've done an atrocious deed by leaving you in terrible need." She cradles Artemis' hand. "From now on, I will cherish you more than anyone."

Her words are too good to be true. But so desperate for that love, Artemis thinks nothing of it. A mother at last, what he has craved for years. He drops from the chair to kneel before her, draping his arms around her thin frame. She combs his hair as she once did, promising love and affection between his broken sobs.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:✧*⋆.*:･ﾟ✧.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ☾

Artemis doesn't take his sled to the woods. He has no plans to hunt today, not only sore but also elated by the drastic change in his mother. Beneath the white tree, his prince awaits to hear another tale, thankfully one much better than the last. The run to the tree feels longer than ever, perhaps because there's good news, for once. But when Artemis finally breaches the treeline, he skids to a horrifying halt.

The white tree is withering away. Branches hang low, threatening to snap. Once pristine white bark darkens gray. Pale blue leaves blanket the forest floor, shriveling beneath the heat of the sun.

Why?

Artemis rushes to the opening where the dirt shifts beneath his weight. Even with the threat of a cave in, he shimmies down the rope that remains tethered to the roots. Heat rises from below, nothing like the cool breeze once residing there. When Artemis' feet hit the floor, there's only mud. The snow is gone, as are the icicles above, and the poppies have withered. Across the room, the roots are empty, devoid of the coffin once cradled within. Nothing remains, no shards of ice, or even the slumbering prince.