His mind reeled as he placed her down on his bed, tainting his ivory sheets with her blood.
She’s still bleeding.
Turning on his heel he raced to one of his chairs, ripping off the small blanket before running back to the frail, unconscious woman.
Shadows roiling in agitation, Osiris tore off a small piece of fabric, balling it up in his hands. He used his shadows to gently rotate her face to the side so that he could fully see the cut, not wishing to touch her directly.
He doubted she would appreciate that.
A momentary wave of relief washed over him as he noted that the laceration was not life threatening. It would just be painful upon waking.
Osiris tended to his unconscious guest until the blood had all been wiped away, and no fresh drops formed on the line of the cut.
Once he was done, he backed away from her, once again putting space between them.
What was she even doing out there?
Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned against the wall farthest from her. He had more questions than he was comfortable with.
He needed to speak with her.
But not like this.
He thought as his hand lifted to his shadows where his pumpkin should have sat.
Ineed to speak with her all the while remaining hidden.
Letting the hours pass them by, Osiris sat watching, waiting for her to wake up. His head sat on the counter across from him, and each time she stirred he reached for it.
In spite of his current predicament and the possible consequences for bringing her to his home, he still wanted to ease her discomfort, even if only slightly, upon her awakening.
Perhaps this isolation has truly corrupted my mind.
8
ELEANOR
Head pounding, Eleanor’s eyes fluttered open. The room spun as she looked up at the wooden ceiling above her. She closed her eyes again, wanting to sleep just a bit longer. But when she tried to roll over, she noticed how soft and comforting the mattress was.
Did Uncle replace it?
Despite the pounding in her head, she could hear the sound of a fire coming to life, crackling and popping as the warmth spread around her.
A fire?
Rolling over she slowly opened her eyes, needing a moment to take in her surroundings. Her brows furrowed as she was met with an unfamiliar chair that looked to be masterfully crafted out of wood and a warm fire burning in a stone hearth.
Eleanor’s eyes widened as she quickly shot up, only to regret moving so fast as her headache roared back to life.
“Ugh,” she moaned, looking around the small, foreign room, “where… where am I?” she muttered to herself.
Looking down, she noted a small cup filled with water, neatly resting on a round side table.
“You should drink something,” a dark, baritone voice came from somewhere off in the distance. Eleanor startled as her head whipped towards the direction of the sound, but almost immediately the voice rang through the room again. “Do not look. Stay where you are. I do not wish to scare you.”
Her mouth opened slightly before closing again. Heart racing, she cautiously sat back down on the edge of the bed, keeping her head forward. “Why should I be scared?” she asked, listening intently for his answer as her eyes searched for the door, without moving her head.
“I often get the feeling that my looks… make people uncomfortable. You are already in an unwell state, I do not wish to worsen it.”
