The Brave Human Mate

68.

* * ☾ * *

Healer Rhea's POV

Rhea couldn't understand how frail her body truly was, how damned it had become when riddled with so much trauma. But gods,  she couldn't even die in peace—

Not when the ghost of her parents continued to come and go.

Though it had been worse, a boy had come forward not long after. And upon shooing him, she realized that it could have been her lost brother.

The one who had died in childbirth.

While he hadn't said much before her outburst and prompt loss of consciousness—The effort it took to remember anything was waining thinner and thinner, as she soon didn't seem the need to care.

Her hand was still tightly gripped around the spoon, entirely lost in equations and attempts to figure out what Romulus needed—And no, she knew that he wasn't better, she felt it deep in the bottom of her heart.

If he was well, she wouldn't be here.

If he was well, Mithwell would be dead.

If he was well...

Perhaps she could ask her brother to help her to the Goddess, to plead for mercy.
Didn't it seem like the right time to stop fighting?

There hadn't been a day that she hadn't stopped the constant battle of looking over her shoulder. It didn't matter if she was well stocked in the Kingdom, or starving off in the territories.

Nothing changed, nothing besides the name. A name her father had called her a fool for not using.

"I am not her..." She whispered, knowing that she had buried that part of herself down so long ago. But her mouth had become so dry without a proper drink that she had strained herself further, but the words needed to come out.

They needed to be declared.

With no one to share what she supposed were her final moments, she decided that this was for the better. That her body had been so very tired for years, a decade, even.

Perhaps it was wrong to play with the idea of being with Romulus, not when she seemed so fragile in comparison. She vowed that whatever form she would transpire to, she would watch over him.

That would be for the better, wouldn't it?

The uneasiness of her breath had concluded one thing, that her lungs didn't burn for air—And it felt as though she could choke regardless of whether she filled them or not.

Yet every time she had come to this road of acceptance, a pulse had distracted her. One that repeated no matter how many times she begged for the last breath to come.

Perhaps her heart would burst, or the infection would catch wind of the dozens of rats in the room surrounding her. Neither were all that tempting, but at one point, she couldn't seem to find herself worthy of anything better.

It was rather ironic that her soul was tethered so strongly to stay alive, perhaps there was a way to sever it. A way to reject it.

The words had all been on the tip of her dry lips. But her voice hadn't agreed—No. She wanted to whisper, perhaps that would do it. Demanding it, with force.

No.

With a strong inhale, Rhea had all but charged up to giving it her all—Only to hear a voice. One that had a sense of weight to it, as though it was real.

But she closed her eyes while her lips twitched, as a smile was too much of a strain. Yet the sound was starting to echo and ache her eardrum, to the point of actual annoyance.