Dying is nothing like death, I should know. While death feels like nothing, dying is unbearably painful. My throat was the ground during the famine, a wasteland devoid of moisture.
"Wa...ter," I managed.
Something pressed against my lips and water splurged down my throat. But where the water went also went an unrelenting agony. It was either pain or death and your body will only always stray from death till it has no other choice. A throbbing ache encircled my scalp. I reached up to ease it in any way I could, but if anything it was tiresome just lifting an arm.
Something warm brushed the back of my ear and tugged my hair loose.
"Can you sit up?" Came his voice.
Even breathing was torture in itself.
"Hold on."
An arm or what felt like an arm, a very warm one circled my back, held me forward and lowered me not onto the bed, but sat me against something firm and snug. Little by little my hair came undone. With every loose strand was a burst of relief across my scalp, till the aches were alleviated altogether.
"Better?" His voice was as tender as cream.
I hummed in response.
A silence crawled by.
"I'm sorry I couldn't protect you."
"It," I was just finding my voice. "It wouldn't have changed a thing." I'd still have swallowed that seed. Which made me think, when you have someone so precious, do you live because you know they'd want you to or because you couldn't bare being apart from them? And if you chose death over them does that mean you never loved them in the first place? Or is there something much more important than love?
"You'll be alright, I promise you that."
"I want to trust you." And I had. "But let me trust myself enough to trust you."
"Do you hate me?" He said it as though it would be horrible if I did.
My eyes seared like an egg on a pan. I hissed. He shifted behind me, pulled the blanket higher.
"I don't think I can." I sunk into him.
I peeled my eyes back. Again it seared. But it was dark. As far as I could tell.
"How long have I been out?" I prepared for another attempt at sight.
"A few hours. The antidote worked like it should have."
My eyes burst open and the first thing I laid my eyes upon was the window.
"Where's the general?"
Philip bristled behind me. "The general?"
I forced myself to sit forward and dipped a foot to the frigid floor. His arm coiled around me and held me back.
"I have to go." I reached for the chair to hold me up but as soon as I stood my knees gave in. I never reached the floor though.
"Where are you going?" He badgered, his arm secured round my waist.
"I have to make sure they left safely." I attempted another step. But this time he practically carried me forward.
"Who?"
"The children."
We made our way over to the window. The tip of the red crescent moon touched the trees that belonged to Time. I clutched the window's edge and tugged with all my might till it came unstuck.
"Are you crazy you're sick!" His hand flew over mine. "You might breathe fire but for the past 12 hours you've been clutching that blanket for dear life."
YOU ARE READING
Scales and Swords ✓
Fantasy*completed* Born with scales and the ability to breathe fire, Mo spent all her life being bullied and ridiculed. For in the Kingdom of Kreatier her kind are not welcome: Half-breeds or as they are better known, Vuruks. But when she loses her family...
