Deborah of the Forsaken

The Colony

Nightmares. Incessant nightmares.

I was in and out of consciousness for what seemed like days and later found out was actually weeks. The only constant was the horrific nightmares that accosted my vulnerable state. Impossible horrors chased me over cliffs where I would drown in the river below over and over again, only to wake and repeat the cycle. Hands would drag me down into the depths of sandpits, smothering me, tearing at my eyes and whispering unspeakable things to me as I died. Deborah. Deborah of the Forsaken, they sneered as their teeth ripped into my skin and then I would wake screeching, clawing at my own body and eyes. Countless times I had to be restrained for my own protection.

My arm had been stiched up and the wound's healing itself was progressing well, but the rest of me would take time. I couldn't walk and my vision was blurry, littered with black specs that made it impossible to focus. The fever that had gripped me gave way to shivering and a constant sensation of being doused in ice water that would rip the breath from my lungs causing me to wheeze and gasp terribly as the organs collapsed momentarily.

While I was no longer in danger of the corrupting power of the poison the Twisted creature's finger nails had infected me with, I was just barely alive. The priestesses of the Temple were doing everything they could to help me, but they had exhausted the extent of their knowledge in wounds and their treatment of this kind. Now all that was left to do was wait.

Presently, I was awake. Anthony slept on my other side, stubbornly refusing to leave me although I truly wished he would. I was staring at the carved ceiling, organizing my thoughts, attempting to lie as still as possible. Deborah. Deborah of the Forsaken. The hairs on my body stood on end just thinking of that sickly sweet voice. Why did it call me that? Why did all of them call me that in my nightmares?

Anthony stirred next to me and I peeked at him, grimacing in pain at the sudden movement. His eyes opened slowly and settled on mine, their depths stormy and wholly unsettling before he shuttered his emotions away. Once, I would have been delighted to have him this close, drinking in the sight of him as we slept together. Now, all I saw was a man filled with a darkness I could not pinpoint, had no name for, and wanted as far away from me as possinble.

"You're finally awake," I said with a small forced smile, straining to see him even though he was so close.

He lazily pushed up onto one elbow with his head in his hand, stretching toward me, his fingertips caressing my arm. I knew I should want his touch, though I couldn't bring myself to feel anything except revulsion, scarcely managing not to flinch.

"You look better than yesterday. How are you feeling?"

From the intonation of his voice he was lying. I looked the way I felt. I'd glimpsed my reflection in one of the enormous mirrors in the broad marble hallways when they moved me from the infirmary to these rooms. My skin was deathly white and sallow, deep dark purple bruises encircled my eyes and my hair had lost whatevet luster it usually held. I looked like someone who had been dead for days. At best, death warmed over.

"Honestly? I feel like shit."

I strained to choke out a laugh, which warped into a weird croaking noise instead. Anthony fell silent again. His hand was still on my arm I realized, eyes shifting to the dark blue I'd come to associate with annoyance.

"What is it?" I asked, observing his features carefully.

He turned onto his back and folded his hands over his chest, eyes fixed to the ceiling. "The Mother Supreme spoke to me this morning after their healer came to visit you," he answered, his tone strangely bored.