CHAPTER 45: SIN IS THE EYE OF THE BEHOLDER
No one believed her.
But Aunt Agatha was right.
Dreary weather does offer good fortune to lovers.
It didn't matter if it was rain, snow, or mere sunlessness. If the Heavens bore even a hint of gloom, she said there'd be a magnetism that compelled lonely souls to yearn for company.
You were one of those who failed to believe in superstition. And unironically, you were also one of the poor fools blessed with the lovers' fortune that day. In truth, you had one too many lovers to think of. The first was tucked away in the throne room, playing hide-and-seek with his youngest. The second was in the study, trifling with magic beyond your moral understanding. And then the last--
Well, his name hadn't been uttered in nearly a week.
In fact, you hadn't seen him either.
You refused to. Especially after that haunting night with Viren . . .
Besides, it was not like he was actually your lover. Right?
Whatever the case was, you tried not to dwell on the archmage. Though, admittedly, it was no simple feat. The elf always managed to slink into your mind somehow. Luckily, Uzner was the perfect distraction for your turmoil. The news you had about his paralysis was revolutionary, and you imagined his childish glee would offer you some semblance of peace. But when the time came, and you finally sat down to reveal your plans, your brother seemed insipid. Even his usual cordial gaze was cold and voided.
'Perhaps he misheard me,' you debated, fighting off the gnawing beast in your chest. 'Or maybe he's overjoyed and numb with disbelief.'
After all, you were offering him the chance to walk on the soles of his own feet again. Anyone who'd gone through even a quarter of what he did would be shaken from hearing your proposal. But the minutes droned on, and Smith didn't budge. His brows stayed pinched, eyes glassy, and his clammy palms continued to mark the birchwood table.
The longer he stilled, the more you were sure: something was amiss.
"Are you . . . are you alright?"
"Huh? Oh uh, s-sorry - yes," the male choked, glancing up meekly through his lashes. "I'm just . . . overwhelmed, you know?"
"That's fair. I've given you a lot to process," you chuckled insincerely, cursing the ocean that pooled between the two of you. "If you're like this now, I wonder what you'd look like when you're finally back on your feet-"
"Actually, (Y/N), I don't . . . I don't think I want them back."
A beat - a spiteful, darkening beat passed.
"What?"
Reading your patent distress, Smith softened. He didn't want to aggravate the situation more than it already was. But animosity quickly conquered your warmth. He knew, thereon, a rebuttal was imminent. "I don't want my legs back. O-Of course, please know that I appreciate you and your . . . mentor. But I'd really like for things to stay as is."
Beyond that, you couldn't milk a single sound past the filter of your bewilderment. Somehow though, you found the will to study the lad's expression. After observing nothing but sheepishness, a grim snicker escaped you.
"You're jesting. You've gotta be jesting," you chanted in a feeble and delirious attempt to untangle your nerves. "I mean - who in their right mind would deny walking again? Especially after being stuck in a chair for half their life?"
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Wayfinding | Aaravos x Reader |
Fanfic"Forged by the stars, but heir to the night." ____ Black or white. Humans or elves. Good or evil. They see life as if it were something dichotomous. You are expected to live as one thing or the other. Yet, more often than not, you seem to find your...
