“If you value your hide, you’ll stay in that wing.” Without another word, she turned and climbed the stairs, disappearing into the east wing.
Aden felt both chastised and angered at her heartless words. “Come on, Warrior,” he muttered again as he crossed the room to the western side, ducking his head as he stepped into a long hallway.
Entering the small room that was currently his, Aden felt a heavy weight settle over his shoulders and chest. The close proximity of every wall in the space immediately meant that he could no longer see anything clearly. Its ceiling was low overhead, weighing down upon him and making it difficult for him to breathe. The room itself was likely intended to house the family’s servants; being on the ground level of the mansion.
He could make out the hazy shapes of a bed, a wardrobe, and a table. He knew his traveling bag was on the table. But the clarity of sight he’d experienced outdoors had disappeared. He felt trapped.
He could not remain here.
He could leave. Nothing was stopping him from picking up his bag and walking back into the mountains. Back to loneliness, exhaustion, and waiting for...
Perhaps it would be better to remain here one more night. He could sleep in the comfortable bed in this mostly silent house, endure the glares of its inhabitants, and get rested and renewed before leaving in the morning.
That plan wouldn’t hurt anyone. Unless the rose died before tomorrow morning, of course.
He quickly crossed the room to his bag on the table. Carefully removing the rose, he unwrapped it from the large piece of linen he had used to protect it. The cloth, which he had dampened to keep the flower alive, was now dry.
He squinted his eyes. The head of the rose was a murky brown. He could not see the detail of the petals, but it had clearly lost its vibrant color.
It was dead.
Suddenly, Aden’s limbs felt funny, as though they had lost all sensation. It was happening. He was going to lose his humanity and become less than nothing. Become uncontrolled chaos.
As rage and despair welled up inside his chest, he felt the overwhelming desire to grasp the head of the rose and tear it off, to be in control of the final moment of his destiny.
Warrior barked, nipping at Aden’s leg as though he sensed something was wrong.
Momentarily distracted, Aden looked down fondly at his little friend. “You’re a good boy, Warrior.”
Warrior stood on his hind legs, his front paws resting against Aden’s knee. The dog opened his mouth in what seemed like a grin at Aden’s encouraging words. His tongue lolled out as he panted up happily.
Aden stared at Warrior’s tongue. Something nagged at his mind.
Then, Aden felt a giggle in the pit of his stomach. It grew, bursting out of his lungs in a strange mix of laughter and sobbing.
Aden’s knees gave out and he sank to the ground, scooping his dog into a big hug. “You’re a good boy, Warrior. Such a good boy.”
The dog’s normally bright pink tongue, hanging out the side of his mouth, had appeared to Aden to be a dull, hazy brown.
“I can’t see color,” Aden said out loud, still sobbing with laughter. “I’ve gotten so used to a colorless world, I forgot that I can’t see color.”
The rose wasn’t dead. At least not yet. It just looked brown to him.
Regaining his composure while feeling lighter than he had in a long time, Aden once again picked up the rose.
He squinted. Other than the blob of brown that indicated the petals, he could not make out any details on the rose. He wanted to see if the edges of the petals were becoming dry and brittle, or if the stem was streaked with decay.
His strained eyes revealed nothing.
Holding it gently under his nose, Aden inhaled deeply. The aroma was overpowering. It was fresh, floral, and complex.
He could not smell any hint of dryness or decay. Not that he had ever spent much time comparing the scent of a living rose to that of a dying one. Would he even know when the rose was near its end? Would he be able to perceive the petals as they fell? Or would he one day wake up to find that the red blob had disappeared into nothingness?
He needed a better method to discern what was happening.
He had noticed the scent of flowers in the courtyard. Perhaps he could pluck a normal, un-cursed rose to use as a comparison.
Carefully rewrapping the rose, he headed back outside.
