Page 54 of Scars and Crowns

Her face—God. She's pale. Not the ordinary kind of tired pale. The frightening kind. The colour has drained completely from her skin, leaving behind a dull grey undertone that wasn't there this morning.

"Daisy." I'm beside her in two strides. My hands settle instinctively on her shoulders before she can tip forward. "Look at me."

She blinks slowly. Her eyes struggle to focus. "I'm okay . . . " she whispers.

No.

She isn't.

Not even close.

"What happened?" My voice comes out lower than intended, tight with something I don't bother hiding. "Talk to me."

Her lips part, but no words come. Instead, she lifts one trembling hand and points weakly toward the bedside table. "The drawer . . . " I pull it open immediately. Inside, beneath a folded shawl, sits a small black pouch. I take it out and hand it to her. Only then do I notice my own hands aren't steady anymore. She fumbles with the zip once.

Twice.

Finally manages to open it.

Inside is a glucose monitor.

A lancet.

Test strips.

Everything arranged with the practiced precision of someone who's repeated this routine countless times.

Alone.

The thought lands somewhere unpleasant inside me. She inserts the strip into the monitor with movements so familiar they don't require thought anymore.

Pricks her finger. A tiny bead of blood appears. She doesn't even flinch. She touches the strip to it. Then waits while the tiny machine counts down. The silence feels endless.

"My sugar is low," she says quietly after a moment, glancing at the screen. She says it so matter-of-factly it almost sounds routine. "It's okay."

Okay?

I stare at her. She's barely sitting upright. Her breathing is shallow. Her hands are still shaking. Nothing about this feels okay.

"Can you . . . " She swallows. "Can you get the chocolate?"

I blink. "What?"

"It's . . . in the drawer."

She closes her eyes briefly before continuing. "Wrapped in foil."

I don't waste another second. I search through the drawer until I find exactly what she's described. A small chocolate bar wrapped in silver foil. My fingers clumsily tear it open. I place it carefully into her hand. She breaks off a small piece. Then another. Eating slowly.

Patiently.

Like this is a ritual she's performed hundreds of times before. I watch every bite. Every swallow. Every tiny change in her face. The colour returns painfully slowly. Minute by minute.

Her breathing steadies.

Her shoulders relax.

Only then do I realise I've been holding my own breath.