𝗘𝗿𝘀𝗮𝘁𝘇 𝗟𝗲𝗺𝗮𝗻 | 𝖿𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗌𝗒

IV. Expedite

Havryil Vovk's POV

"I don't get one thing..." I said, my shoulders twitching in a shrug. "I haven't heard of you before. Then why would my mother call for you?"

The cogwheels in my brain had begun to work, like clockwork, each groove fitting impeccably into the other's.

His tone embraced me, yet again. "I'm from a few miles away. And my words are deemed to have the power to change people." The credence he exuded through mere words and syllables had been untarnished; unblemished. It did have authority. A sort of dominance that one wouldn't dare to transgress.

The pale fog around me hadn't begun to evanesce. Clouding my perspicacity, my eyes had relinquished even the proclivity to begin their labor. The bells of ambiguity reverberated through my ears, a part of me not wanting to surmise whatever the man said.

But that drop of suspicion volatilized as soon as a warmth spread on my shoulder. It was akin to a touch, a reassuring squeeze - but not quite there yet - prompting the words out of my mouth.

"I'll take your word for that, Mr. Nosenko." His name felt foreign... Yet somehow so wonted. "Let's get talking, then. I want to get this over with."

The realm of exuberance was a mundane place to be. It had been so much more preferable getting acclimatised to the agony. To the consternation of being disregarded. Not to these unforeseen tingles coursing through every bit of fluid in my body.

"Firstly... Call me Isai. Secondly, is your hostility down yet? If not, I'm afraid we won't be able to continue."

A sigh scarpered off my lips, that had parted. "I'll be fine. As long as you don't pry into things too personal." I tried sounding as conciliatory as possible, but the fact that my voice still sheathed the wisps of hostility had been bolshie.

The fog seemed to close in upon me, the space I had been grounded on becoming diminutive. Even though I couldn't see it, I could perceive it. And it didn't serve any other impetus than to cause palpitations.

"Can you remember when exactly you started feeling this way?" he asked. The words were laid down prudently, like he'd been daunted to handle me - a fragile piece of glass, a flickering  candle flame.

My legs stumbled upon themselves, the shoes getting tangled among the long ends of my pants. I could feel the wind gushing up the sides of my fizzog. An all too familiar sensitivity triturating my nose wasn't exactly a thing on my bucket list.

A whimper left my lips that time, as my eyes closed on their own accord. As though shutting the only portal that had been deemed formidable would salvage me from the impact.

But shouldn't I face it? Like I had faced every bit of it all through the destined suffocation. Like all the time the pain had infiltrated through my skin, seeping beneath into my bones.

And what would the mere closing of my eyes do? I would still feel the pain, and facing it would really weave the broken wishbone, again.

To some unequivocal extend, I had been right. My face never felt the impact of the fall. For the wisps of white had sheathed me in its canoodle. It lapped against my skin, my feet feeling the fine grain of soil as it set me down again. Only once it had alleyed, did my eyelids even dare to open.

"What the hell just happened?" I mumbled to myself.

"Trusting someone, in the end, really comes down to you. So, do it wisely."