The Harvest Of Souls (beast wirt X reader short story)

5:Blind Faith

"There are perhaps no days of our childhood we lived so fully as those we spent with a favorite book"-Marcel Proust

A warm feeling swept through my nerves, the silent soft sounds of small flames flickering off in the soft wind of the room bounced off my ears, and so did the building yawning by the bitterness of the night's howling breeze. A stiff feeling suspended my first movements of my broken forearm, wondering what had happened until I remembered the events before, My eyes shot open to look back, yet everything blurred as if my vision was a smeared painting in blotches of fuzziness.

Surprised by the blood loss of my own head, I set a sore hand to rub my weary eyes as my ears detected the croaky sound of a chair murmuring besides my bed.  "You're awake" a close voice stated. Looking up from the sound, my eyes gave me little information about the person in front of myself.

In return I nodded quietly, "good to see my efforts weren't all in waste" he commented, I tried thinking of something to respond with, yet a thought drifted up my mind and seeped through my voice "why did you save me?" I asked, not thinking before saying.

Looking at their blurred figure, I heard them close their book and put it down "Well if I didn't, who would?" He asked me half rhetorically.  Bringing my attention down to the floor, I fixed a thread of my hair out of my face "If it means anything then, thank you. And I'll try doing you any favors in return"  I awkwardly muttered out, soon peering back down at my arm.Noticing something had wrapped around my wounded arm. It felt as cold as metal and stiff whenever I tried moving, in further inspection, I soon realized it was a cast of branches. It almost looked as if it had wrapped around my arm.

In the moments of silence I brought up "what book are you reading" as the only topic that could surface my head. "Oh uh, some older book 'A Tale For The Time Being'" he answered after taking a moment to look over  "mystery book?" I question "No, more of philosophy." He swung back, sitting back in his chair as the chair croaks back happily in return. 

The title sounded familiar, but nothing really shouted in my head about it as it did whisper in faint voices, then it shot at me like a bullet "the author, let me guess" I start "Marcel Proust" I state. It takes him a moment to reach over for the book and check the cover "Yeah, you know their work?" He asks, I nod my head "I remember I had to do a project on him years back in Language arts" I smile, remembering all the way back to those times.

"I don't exactly know much of his work besides this," he adds "To be honest, I found the book in someone else's home and eventually just called it mine" they shrug, setting the book off to the side of their desk once more. "But I do admire their work none the less" to which I nod my head in agreement. And So we went off, talking about literature to pass the time, that spread out to more philosophical topics as the night blossomed to morning.

"How did you find your way to the woods?" was the question that made me feel the least comfortable, yet nonetheless, I explained what I had done, my crime for just wanting a new start from a inescapable life.

Hoping things would be better this time around. Hoping.... I'd finally get to see them again.   I stared down at my covers in silence, letting my feelings sink down about what I had done. And when I felt I didn't belong in this room the most, I felt a hand reach around my back, and so we sat in the silence of the forest.