The legends as they have it, among the plethora of unique mythical creatures like the hybrids are Healers. Healers reigning from the Whitlock bloodline happened to become extinct by previous leaders... or so they thought.
Forced into hiding she; Gr...
"I'm a monster, you know. I'm one of the dangerous ones."
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GRACE'S POV
"Is this what you do for a living?"
"Do what?" I pop a forkful of potato salad in my mouth waiting for his response.
"Have dinner with strangers."
"No. I actually haven't done this in a while..." My fork dances around my plate as my mind takes me else where. I haven't healed someone in years, I thought I'd forgotten how to use my magic but it somehow came naturally to me...once I met him.
"...to help someone" I wrack my brain for the right words, "...get back on their feet, literally" I chuckle at the last comment and look up to find him gazing at me, lost in thought.
I wish I knew what he was thinking.
"I'm a monster, you know. I'm one of the dangerous ones."
"I'll be the judge of that, whoever hurt you the way they did - they're the monsters." I reply with assertiveness.
"Still, you seem awfully calm with a stranger in your house", emphasizing on the word 'stranger'.
"That's because I can literally sense what you're feeling" I take a sip of my drink and rest my chin on my raised palms, observing his beautiful features. He was very compelling to look at, just like a fine masterpiece in an art gallery.
"Name one!" he scoffs as he digs in his food, closing his eyes momentarily as if savoring it's rich flavour.
"What are you? A mind reader of some sort? A witch?"
"Let's start small...I'm Grace" I stick my small palm out to him and his eyes zero in on the tattoo displayed on my inner wrist Reading the word; 'free' in cursive linked with a single bird.
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"Scar." His rough, large hands engulfs mine and we shake hands firmly only to pull apart suddenly feeling the lost of his warmth.
"So, what did you mean by 'haven't eaten in centuries'?"
"Not keeping up with the tabloids?"
"I have, just want to hear it from 'the lost warrior'" His eyebrows raise at the name given to him. There was in fact a whole search party out there looking for him before they gave him his title.
"Short story, I am one of the eight warriors; a hybrid"
"Dangerous." I coo with wide eyes, teasing him a little. Why was I playing with fire?
"Exactly, I'd keep my distance if I were you, Rosey"
"The name's Gra-"
"It's still Rosey to me" Before I could question him 'why', he takes his leave with the cane I offered him earlier not before washing his dishes and walking away. I only had to clean up the dishes since he scraped every last bit of the meal leaving no leftovers.
Heading over to my balcony from my room, I grab a throw and cuddle into the swinging chair as I wind down with a novel and some herbal tea.
An hour or two passed by in a jiffy once I wake up in a jolt due to a loud noise. Sliding the book on the table, I enter my room and then exit it making my way downstairs.
I could feel my eyes light up catching my reflection against the mirror by the bathroom door; my eyes gleamed a warm blue.
Walking to the guest room...I sense him, he was reliving the moment he gained the injury. He was probably having a flashback in his dream and he was also in pain. I didn't bother knocking because he was too occupied to respond. Scurrying towards him laying shirtless in his bed, I place my hands on his wound, it opened just a sliver but I closed it up in time.
It was closed but the raised scar looked angry and still very fresh, he needs to avoid doing anything for a while. I hiss as I feel the familiar tinge every time I had healed someone, I lift my sweatshirt and there on my abdomen was a similar mark to Scar's one. Instead of it being raised, it was a faint mark only a shade tanner than my fair skin.
There's always a price to pay for magic. And mine was that every time I heal someone, the wound that would've been the reason of them passing meaning the most severe one would etch it's way on my body. In the same place, the same tinge but only a faint mark.
Walking out of Scar's room after checking that he was settled, my fingers softly graze over the tattoo on my right wrist. This one tattoo was hiding a scar, it was of a rogue who had slit her wrist and had I not made it there in time, we would've lost her.
I meant it when I told Scar I haven't healed someone in years. I used to look out for rogues passing my side of the forest or if Jasper knew someone who needed help. Apart from that I remain in hiding. No one was to find out a healer still existed hence why there is a protection spell around my property, no passer by can see it nor sense it. Not unless I give permission.
The reason why my existence should not be known is all written in the journals and books of mythical creatures; amongst them are the 'healers' and the way they had been treated sends chills through my bones each time I ponder about it.
I'd rather keep it buried somewhere in the back of my head...for indeed it's traumatizing.
