“Why not?”
“My maker kept things from me…lied about much. I do not know the extent of it.”
“He did?”
“He said I would die if he was to perish. But that cannot be.” He lifts his hand in front of the fire like it’s proof of his existence. “I am still here, and strangely, I feel stronger than before.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m unsure,” he says, but after a moment’s pause he continues. “It feels as though he took something from me…and now, I have it once more. As though I am at last made whole.”
“I don’t feel stronger. I feel like I could sleep a thousand years.”
I stretch long and slow like a cat. Lazarus picks me up in one swoop and carries me next door to his room.
“And a thousand years you shall sleep, almenara,” he says, before plopping me on his bed.
I let out a sound of satisfaction, feeling small and weightless in his arms.
“You keep calling me that. What does it mean?” I ask, stretching languidly between the sheets.
He smiles. “Do you mean ‘almenara’?”
I nod.
“It is a word from my youth.Non te twelgaš de mibe, almenara.” He lays a thick blanket over my legs. “It translates to: don’t take yourself from me, my beacon of light.”
He gets more blankets, stacks them on top of the other, then sits at the edge looking at me softly.
“You light the path back to myself. And I shall watch over you until you are ready to return to me.” He trails a finger over my cheek before sitting in his armchair.
I hardly noticed falling asleep because suddenly the scent of morning hangs in the air. Birds—no, crows—caw near the window.
I feel fresher and more rested than I ever have before. I yawn loudly, letting my feet stick out from the blankets. In the dim light of the room, I make out Lazarus’ form sitting on his armchair and reading a book. I turn upside down, placing my head at the foot of the bed, letting it dangle down the edge. I feel amazing. Completely new. I had no idea sleeping well could make such a difference in a person.
“How long did I sleep?” I ask.
He drops the book to his lap, finger still between the pages. “Nearly four days.”
“That’s a lot. Is that normal?” I guess that explains why I feel so rested.
“I do not know.” He only shrugs.
“Read to me,” I say, trying to make sense of the upside-down world.
He smiles shyly but finally clears his throat and reads me a passage. “‘I shall collect my funeral pile and consume to ashes this miserable frame, that its remains may afford no light to any curious and unhallowed wretch who would create such another as I have been.’”
“Why am I not surprised this is the kind of stuff you read,” I tease.
“What do you mean by that?” he asks confused.
“You know…well, it doesn’t really matter,” I say finally.
“Do you dislike it?” he asks quietly.
I suppress a chuckle at the thought of how much Idoactually like it.
Lazarus draws his eyebrows together. “Please, do not shout so loudly.” He puts his hands up to his ears.
