Freyja woke suddenly, every thought in low definition. Her eyes took in every ray of light in the silver room, and without a doubt, she knew she slept too long. The noises of the day were in full swing, voices high, and laughs audible.
Freyja’s eyes traveled around the room, soaking in every detail. From the deep cracks in the silver wall to the spider hanging above her head, the dusty brown shelves, the cat-scratched painting, the wilted flower, the ladder.
Noise and footsteps came from above, causing dust particles to rain down. Candlelights illuminated the small space.
Freyja spotted a pink paper on her bedside.
Pain gnawed at her side as she attempted to sit up. She winced. When she raised her tunic, she saw white bandages wrapped around her slim torso. A line appeared between her brows.
Realization hit her. She’d been attacked by a howler. The last thing she remembered was an army at her back. She brought her hand to her head as a headache began to form. Her fingers brushed a smooth material.
Great, she thought. Her head was bandaged too.
She tensed. Where was she? Her heart hammered in her chest. How did she get here? Before she could stop her body, her bad arm shot to the paper.
Pain stabbed her side in response.
She squinted in the dimly lit room.
DO NOT PANIC! We are safe. I’ll check on you soon. -Zilly
Relief flooded her body. Right as it came, her headache intensified. Now she was regretting waking up. Before she could force herself back to sleep, Devland opened the trap door. He climbed down the ladder while humming. His unmelodious song amplified her headache.
“Shut up,” she croaked.
“Aah-!” He placed a gloved hand on his chest as he breathed deeply. “I didn’t know you’d be awake.”
“Water. Please?”
“Right.”
He handed a bowl of water from a shelf. “Azalea said you’d be thirsty. Do you need help drinking it or-”
“I’m good,” she said.
The bed dipped as he sat down. The bowl was the weight of an antelope leg in her hands. It felt unusually heavy.
“Are you sure-”
“No, I am fine.” She struggled to say. Her hands became unsteady.
“I promise I won’t tell anyone that I helped THE Freyja drink water. I swear it.”
She scoffed at his mocking tone. This made her wound throb harder.
Devland reached for the bowl, and she let him hold it. However, she kept her hands firmly around the bowl. Freyja wouldn’t let him help her completely. She wouldn’t embarrass herself like that.
He placed his gloved hands on hers and brought the bowl to her lips. The water slid down her dry throat. Once she swallowed the last drop, she sighed in relief. Her wound protested.
When she looked up, she didn’t miss the curiosity in his eyes.
He cleared his throat. “I’ll go get your healer.”
“My healer?”
“Azalea.”
“I’m here,” Azalea sang as she slid down the ladder. “I’m so glad you’re awake. How do you feel, Freyja?”
YOU ARE READING
Poisoned Lips
Fantasy•Her lips are death itself• ____________________ Freyja, cursed with lips that bring upon death, spent most of her life away from the knowledge of society in fear of getting captured or worse - killing people. But after a painful incident, she disco...
