His scarred hand held tightly onto hers, his face twisting into a venomous sneer. His blood spilled over her knuckles and seeped through the cracks between her fingers.
Fear gripped at her chest, her heart beating erratically in her chest as she tried to pull her hand away, but Aziel’s grip only grew tighter. “You know who did this.” He growled. “You did this. You and the bitch that birthed you.”
Phantom hands held her in place, making her watch as Aziel rose to his feet. His body was stripped bare, every inch of him looming over her, preventing her eyes from focusing on anything else. The roots on his chest pulsed with fury, expanding and curling, twisting up and up until they reached his face. The inky black of them spilled over his jaw, cutting harsh lines through the bleeding claw marks, until they throbbed underneath his eyes.
The body in front of her was covered in scars. Slashes, burns… all of them peeling open and seeping crimson.
Nymiria shook her head, gripping at nothing in an attempt to try and move away from him, but those phantom hands were still holding her there—still forcing her tolook. Still forcing her to see.
“No,” she pleaded. “Please. I don’t want to see this.”
Rough, calloused hands grasped either side of her face, her body going rigid with shock as Aziel leaned down. His mouth covered her own, his blood coating her tongue. “This is what your failure tastes like.” He snarled.
“STOP!”
Nymiria sprang from her bed, ankles and legs too tangled for a graceful landing. She crashed onto the floor, ripping the sheets and blankets from the mattress. Her shoulder collided with the nightstand beside her and upon impact, the beautifully painted vase perched on its top wobbled and crashed against the floor next to her.
Using all of her strength, she pulled herself away from the mess and desperately kicked the blankets and sheets off of her legs. Once freed, she clamored to her feet, nails pressing into the palms of her hands as she glanced around the room.
I shouldn’t have come here. I should have stayed away. I shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have.
She stumbled away from the wreckage of her nightmare, turning towards the washroom just as bile pushed up against the back of her throat. Her jaws filled with saliva, her forehead gleaming with sweat as she rushed to the commode. If she’d waited a moment longer, she would have emptied her stomach onto the floor, for as soon as her arms wrapped around the porcelain, the sickness inside of her rushed out.
Over and over again, she heaved.
A loud crash sounded from her bedroom, but her mind and body were too occupied to even notice. It wasn’t until the smell of cherry blossoms wafted her senses and the feeling of warm hands moving over her exposed spine, that she noticed someone was with her.
She attempted and failed to swat Aziel’s hand away. She didn’t want him to see her like this. She didn’t want him to look at her and feel sorry for her. She didn’t deserve his pity, nor anyone else’s for that matter. Nymiria wanted to be left alone in her sorrow. She wanted to drown in that guilt, let it consume her entirely. Let it make her sick until her body withered away into nothing.
“Look at me, moonflower.” Aziel whispered.
Defiant and stubborn, Nymiria shook her head. “Go away.” She moaned, just before another dry-heave contorted her spine.
Still, Aziel’s bare hands caressed her skin, soothing her. Making the fear and the anguish curdling in her blood fade away. She hated it. She loved it. She couldn’t stand it, yet she wanted nothing more than to lean into his comfort and live there. To feel nothing.
She spat the remnants of vile spittle into the porcelain bowl before her tired body fell back, the fall cushioned by a sturdy surface. Aziel’s arms wrapped around her, lifting her up off of the floor.
There was not a single ounce of strength left inside of her to fight him off. Though she wanted the distance, it seemed as if her body craved something else entirely. The nature of her being, that thing inside of her that demanded to be seen, had taken over.
A soft whirring of prayers vibrated through her senses, the world around them feeling as if it were swirling in dizzying circles. She could hear the prayers again—distant at first, and then louder. The closer he held her, the clearer they became. Most of them were pleas for a bountiful harvest, but then there were the pleas for help.
Her stomach threatened to contract again, her face screwing up when she began hearing the desperation in her follower’s voices. Some of them begged for their mothers, some of them for their wives.
Health.
Healing.
Save me.
Help me.
I am so terrified, Anam. Please.
She swallowed back the bile, fingers curling around the fabric of Aziel’s shirt.I’m terrified, too.She thought.I’m sorry.
The halls of the palace were dim, but Nymiria couldn’t tell if it was dusk or dawn. It was silent, not a single sound to be heard as he carried her across the way to the other wing. She remained pressed into his chest, her face nestling into his tunic, her body greedily breathing in the cherry-blossom air.
Her body recognized his room. The sound of it—the distinct echo of his feet against the floor, the lighting, the angle at which the fire in the hearth illuminated objects and cast their shadows around the room. She’d only ever been there twice, but her mind had drifted there a thousand times. In dreams, in nightmares, in her memories. It was as if her mind had made itself a home in those walls and refused to leave.
