Born into devotion , and from a young age indoctrinated by power, Merikh Fremont was decreed to fight, kill and destroy. The King of Hybern saw the Illyrian rebel as a symbol of the battleground, possessing her for her strength and courage.
But Meri...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Merikh's eyes cracked with a blink of lethargy, the wilting and tender lacerations forging arduous aches that kindled her body. Her head throbbed with dull spasms as her burdened eyes refitted to the anaemic light.
Blinking her heavy lids and climatizing to her new environment, Merikh heeded the withering room with indistinct sight, her sable eyes trailing blindly along the crevasses in boredom and disorientation.
She contemplated going back to sleep, but the pronounced discomfort encapsulating her head refused her deprivation. With nothing else to relish in, Merikh waited the impatience out, hoping someone would check up on her shortly.
After a stint of ambiguity, a cynical shadow surfaced frailly between the wooden door beams, shrouded in fluorescence and advancing prudently toward her bed.
Merikh blinked thickly, thick lashes tainted with fatigue as she sat up on languid elbows, an enduring ache searing her pallid skin. The figure traipsed indecisively on the cream tiles, their small hands bearing an abundance of remedial care and a systematic notebook.
The youthful woman smiled disarmingly, her docile face extended into a warm expression, "You feeling okay?" She asked pleasantly, attentively placing down all of her facilities, her hazel eyes studiously focused on Merikh, that notebook poised idly at her slender hip.
Merikh blinked laboriously, squinting her raven eyes at the woman's obscuring features, haloed by the lucent glow exuding from the alabaster ceilings, the abstruse carvings blurred and incomprehensible.
She hummed distantly, unfocused eyes still meandering over the room's glowing contents - it's striking abundance comparable to the prosperity and magnificence of her home back at Hybern.
The young healer observed Merikh with fascination, scrutinising the shadows behind her eyes and the dissociated distinctions as she retained her gaze absently, drab iris' twirling around the narrow room, "Can we get you anything?" The healer inquired indulgently, the consoling cadence of her young voice winning Merikh's attention.
Merikh shook her head dismissively, ogling the female's compassion with fluster, "What was the last thing you can remember? It's a good place to start with your memory." The healer briefed fluently, bringing forth her accessible notepad and eyeing Merikh expectantly.
Merikh coughed up the torridness that nested blissfully in her throat, swallowing whatever moisture was left in her mouth, "The shadowsinger." She recalled restlessly, her tedious eyes becoming clearer as her mind reprised the concluding events of her servitude, "How long have i been here? Nesta and Elain, are they-"
The fretting healer hushed Merikh patiently, inspecting the agitated rise and fall of her leaden chest, "Both Archeron sisters are well and recovering slowly. You however.. your powers aren't coming back as quickly as we had hoped they would." She explained carefully, an apologetic grimace puckering her pale face.
