𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐞. | "oh, how you ache for gentle hands and the smooth waves of calming voices. i am no messiah of these things but perhaps my warmth will be the soothing medicine you have yearned for in the illusions of familiar faces."
一 in which...
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02 | two
SHE DIDN'T CATCH ANOTHER GLIMPSE OF HIM for the next five days. Although shadows lingered here and there on the patio, in the corridor, and along the stairwell, none of them were concrete enough for Aurora to make sense of them. There seemed to be a ghost next door and she was beating herself hard over it. Her mind worked in ways she wished it didn't and it held a very rude sense of irony with consideration of what she did for a living.
The golden hue of sunlight bled weakly from the window just to the left of Aurora. It ignited the small room in a flame of warmth and gentle shades, casting ribbons of light throughout the space and igniting the sparks when they fell to the ground. Among the soft fire rested a sleek black desk that sat dormant in the center of the space, pushed back behind a central focus point where two simple pieces of furniture held on to the edges of a woven rug. Everything about the expanse was minimal. Bookshelves housed hard and paper volumes, paintings and other decorative pieces resting elegantly around the perimeter. It was soothing, calm.
On the leather couch before Aurora, sat a very restless woman who had a strange habit of digging the heal of her shoe against the skin of her opposite ankle. Her fingertips wrung together in a frantic manner, although her face was seemingly composed. Aurora sat perched on the cushion of her armchair, her hands clasped over the material of a manila folder. She tried to focus on the patient before her, studying the simplest changes and twitches of her muscles, but her own head spun and it was beginning to get harder and harder to concentrate.
The clock ticked on the wall.
Aurora was aware of a headache forming at the sides of her head, hovering at her temples and causing a stretch of pain to cross the front of her forehead. There were simple explanations of this fact. Maybe her hair was pulled back too tight and her scalp was complaining at the strain, or perhaps she had worked too hard last night and caused a disturbance in the equilibrium of her body. It was nothing, really, something that was more than common among the current population, but Aurora wound down on the spiral and she started to falter.
She wondered how her own individualistic self wasn't even wholly under her control. It wasn't just the fact that roughly half of herself existed as a biome of other living things that lived and died inside of her, but also the alarming realization that her entire body was a machine that worked all on its own and she had no clue whatsoever how her bodily functions carried on without the knowledge of her consciousness. She was in the dark of her own self. While her brain buzzed away and her senses offered her the fractions of reality they were able to perceive so finitely, her own knowledge was built and composed of the ignorance to her own self.
Her thoughts continued like that. Always. Finding their own sophisticated lattice of intricately crafted delusions that survived off of the illogical anxiety that existed within herself.
