unraveled

the tower

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         Nia felt a tingling in her neck that moved over her body, flooding her veins like a wave of static. Her hand moved to her neck, to find a thin tube protruding. It had soft feathers on the end.

         "Reeeeally? A daaartt-" her words slurred, the syllables like drunk men walking into each other.

         "Ace-" she called for him, but unconsciousness rose up to swallow his name.

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         "Nia," he whispered harshly, as he lightly slapped her.

         Her face moved with his hand, lolling to the side. Her neck stretched on one side to show a dart. He pulled it out, with a little pluck, as Nia's eyes opened wide probably from the sting. They closed shut again. He poked her with the sharp tip again, but her eyes stayed shut.

        He tried pinching her arm but she didn't respond.

        Acelius considered dragging her across the street by her arms, but thought better of it. He didn't want to dislocate a shoulder. His, of course.

       "Could you not have fallen unconscious?" he complained to himself, examining the needle. There was a sticky liquid coating it in a thin shade of brown. It was inherently disgusting and poisoned.

        Grunting again, he knelt to pull her into his arms and stood up with some effort. Her body was cold and flimsy under his touch. He could almost feel the slow slug of her blood in her veins, so different from the thin, fast flow in his. Draping his cardigan over her, he started walking. The buildings nearby were dark, only a few windows lit by candlelight. They seemed to lean in to examine Nia. Unconsciously, Acelius tightened his grip on her.

         The air smelled of sweet, salty, sea breeze. The wood of the houses creaked, and he could almost see her bobbing on the waters. He decided he would take her to his ship, and work with the antidotes he kept undern deck. Deveil was on the other side of town, and she would quite possibly be dead by the time they reached. He shuffled the weight in his arms and quickened his pace.

          Here, with her eyes closed, she looked unheavenly beautiful. Her high cheekbones and arched brows. The rosy flush on her face from the poison. Her lips looked as if they were on fire, and her lashes threatened to melt off. Her skin was unsmooth and watery like waves breaking on shore. His arms ached, as he heard the creak of wood underneath and the smell of fish took over his senses. It was really a shame he hated her. His heart revved in speed as her head lolled to the side and her body shifted its weight so it was on the verge of falling from his arms. He pulled her towards him, and she moved onto his chest, her weight shifting like a sack of Kils'oj. Her head rested on his shoulder, and he could feel her burning up through the fabric of his shirt, shifting from the cool of a stone statue to hot sand under the sun, as if a furnace had been turned on.

            A different, quieter wood creaked and he knew he was aboard his ship. The sweet crackle of floorboards and waves lapping up to the hull, like an excited pup. Without wasting any time, he laid her on the floor, and bunched his sweater under her head to serve as a pillow. He rushed below, almost tripping on the steps and opened a dark closet. He could see the dim figures of bottles on shelves, and his fingers slid over their glassy bodies. Counting, and picking and choosing the ones he needed. Some of these bottles hadn't been touched in years, since perhaps Thomas. Acelius's eyes prickled, and he let panic sweep in again. To save him from that dark despair, he would let anything in. When he thought he had what he needed, he rushed back onboard and knelt next to Nia.