"I don't know what's going on, but there's one thing I'm absolutely certain of: Sebastian Michaelis is not human, and I have no clue of what his intention are or what he's capable of doing. "
♞
Bleak.
That, she determined, had become the word to sum...
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♞
It's barely dawn outside when I wake up, and I don't feel like going back to sleep. I lazily roll onto my stomach before quickly remembering the stitched-up gash on it and jerk myself onto my back, being completely stunned when I feel nothing more than a slight, bearable ache. I timidly peel up my nightgown and run my hand across my stomach, expecting to feel a hot, still-fresh wound but instead feel nothing but stitches and puckered skin.
I swing my legs over the bed, tugging the nightgown over my head and tossing it aside to see the only remnant of a hole in my thigh is a purplish scar and faint scrapes on my knees and arms when I know last night they were all freshly bleeding and secreting puss, and as far as bruising goes, there's none besides a couple yellowish marks where they've apparently healed.
How long have I been sleeping? Everything that happened last night doesn't feel real as I stand and stride over to Sebastian's full length mirror, seeing a pinkish scar that should've been an angry slash, but the only sign of recent injury is the little bits of dried blood on the stitches.
"I see you're feeling improved this morning," Sebastian says from the doorway, pulling me out of my thoughts. I look to him in the mirror and find he appears no different than he normally does, no sort of implication that the both of us were lying near-dead in an abandoned cathedral before he brought us home and collapsed at my bedside from exhaustion.
"How long have I been asleep?" My voice hardly goes above a shocked whisper.
"Not very long, I'm afraid," Sebastian replies, striding to me. "It's nearly six."
"What day is it?" I gape, my hands resting above the scar.
"Monday, the twenty-sixth."
"Of March? 1890?"
"Actually, of 1483. I believe King Edward will die suddenly in two weeks' time," he smirks, eyes that had been enervated the last time I looked into them now twinkling with his chipper mood. "Poor Elizabeth will never recover, and her dear boys will be taken soon after their father."
I grit my teeth and sigh through my nose. "You seriously mean to tell me it's not even been a day since — since ..." Since what? What would even begin to describe the past five or so hours of my life?
"Indeed," he replies. He trails his eyes slowly down my naked body in the mirror then brings them back to mine. "How do you feel?"
"Like I'm fucking tripping, that's how I feel," I say as I spin around so he can see me straight on. I hold either hip, drawing attention to the scar in between. "What did you do?"
A small pout takes its place on Sebastian's face, and he steps even closer to me as he studies the mark that splits my stomach transversely. He extends his hand out toward it, looking to me as if to ask my permission to which I manage a half nod, and he lightly traces his fingertips over it like I had done except he smiles victoriously to himself as if he's singlehandedly found true cure for cancer.
