Cinders [Completed]

Chapter 49: Distance

//tw: violence//

[Hercules by Livingston]

"Princess Lee," a familiar, stern voice says behind me, but I don't look up. My hands are pressed to Lucy's white cheeks, trying to diffuse warmth into them.

"What's happening, what's happening, what's wrong - "

"Princess Lee," Dr. Huntley repeats at my side, "I need to get closer to see what's going on. Please step back."

"Lee," another voice calls behind me, and I know this one - "Lee, you need to back away."

Orion's voice is folded in all of the pain and confusion I'm feeling. Hysterical, I momentarily forget how use my hands, how to step away, how to let her go -

With a wrench of hysterics, I force myself away and into Orion's arms.

"Lucy." I want to scream this, but it's just a whisper.

His arms wrap around me effortlessly. I want to close my eyes and feel his heartbeat in my hands but I can't tear myself away from the nightmare in front of me.

"Lucy. Lucy," I chant in quiet horror, watching as Dr. Huntley checks her eyes. There must be a crowd of spectators around us, but I don't acknowledge them.

"Lucy."

And, like a response to my call, Lucy moves her arm ever so slightly, a cry of pain echoing from deep inside her chest.

"Get me a gurney," Dr. Huntley snaps.

-

I don't like the med wing of the Palace.

In fact, I hate it. In fact, it smells like the inside of a pool. In fact, under that, somewhere, it smells like blood.

I have been here too many times.

I couldn't imagine Lucy in here, before. Every hospital bed is too big.

She's sleeping because it hurt her too much to be awake. She'll be coming out of it, now. I look up at Dr. Huntley, Lucy's tiny hand unmoving under mine. Huntley's formal dress is now layered beneath a white doctor's coat, and the contrast would be almost comical if not for the circumstances.

I can barely choke out the words, they hurt so much. "Was this a shift? Was this it? Is she - like me, now? Stunted?"

Orion's arm presses, reassuring, around me. Dr. Huntley shakes her head.

"This was an early sign of shifting pain," she explains, "not actually her first shift. However, due to her skeletal anomalies, it was much more painful than in most instances. As you know, your sister's case is . . . atypical."

"But there's still time?" I ask desperately.

"I didn't realize how far she had progressed," Dr. Huntley sighs, "If I knew she was this close to shifting, I would have insisted that we would complete the surgeries immediately. We should move her right away to my center in Arizona and schedule the surgery. A few days for test and prep, max."