Chapter 114: 114
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I awaken to find Soren's form by my side, head tipped back slightly against the lights that flicker like fireflies on the wall, an empty vial in his hands, lips moving in silent spell, face slacken, chest barely moving. Upon first glance if I didn't know any better I might have presumed him dead. But that's the thing about vampires, they already are.
There is a dull, sickly sweet taste in my mouth, the remnants of something sticky and viscous, like honey but- I find as I bring up a hand to touch my lips tentatively in an effort to to try and figure out what it is, I find that the liquid, or potion, is shimmering with flaky gold. I suppose that would explain the empty vial that Soren carries.
As soon as Soren opens his eyes and notices mine are wide open, a shudder of relief courses through him, as though part of him was half expecting me not to wake back up at all. The thought doesn't exactly sit well on my already unsettled stomach, and so it is no surprise I am quick to dismiss it. Headily, I bring a woozy hand to my head, blinking back the unusual brightness of Soren's room with hazy recognition, but on realising the instability of my condition, quickly move my hands back down to support myself. Soren wastes no time in positioning himself by my side. His hands slip around my arms, steadying my shaky body.
I feel awfully weak.
"My dove, my darling dove," he murmurs dotingly, taking my hands in his while taking an overly zealous precaution not to touch the open wounds on my back. I think he must do it to be kind, gentle with me, as so he doesn't hurt me any further, but in actuality, it only reminds me of the bitter truth of my situation: stasis did nothing for me, I am still dying. Whatever that golden potion did for me, its effects certainly aren't aiding my recovery much. The weight of this fact sits heavy in my heart. Perhaps I am going to die after all. Nervously, I take a deep breath, shifting myself carefully around to face Soren, but the effort of doing so makes the task alone almost seem hardly worth it. My muscles ache, my wounds crying out on my back.
"How long was I out for?"
It is a simple question, one that Soren should really have no trouble in answering. Yet the hesitation in his voice is distinctly evident as he turns my hands over in his own, an almost weary unwillingness in his voice as he whispers:
"Two days."
Two days? I almost want to cry. So much could happen in two days. A kingdom could collapse in two days. The stars could fall in two days. I tighten my fingers around him, squeezing his hands in mine as I try to shut out the intrusive thoughts that begin to plague my mind. Two days in an awfully long time to be stuck dying.
"But I saw a vision, Ka- someone, gave you something, it seemed like only seconds ago," I say, remembering the words Kal had begged of me with such intensity only a few days ago, to keep my knowledge of his existence a secret from Soren- yes, back when I wasn't dying.
The Scarlet Prince gives me a fragile smile.
"I know you have been in coherence with Fangorn and Kal, Serena. But yes, they gave me a potion to use if I decided to… make a decision,"
Whatever decision he is making, the thought of it soon flies out the window, replaced instead by a boiling worry that rolls in the pit of my stomach, consuming me with dread.
Soren knows I have been talking to Kal and Fangorn. Oh no...
Oh no, oh no, oh no.
"Why aren't you angry. I talked to an outcast of your society- I went against your back. You are mad, you have to be," I say, a lurching sob suddenly rising in the back of my throat as Soren steadies me, letting me lean against him as a bout of nausea begins to consume my senses. I lurch over sickeningly, but Soren holds me firmly upright, his strangely warm hands pressing up against my lower back. Through the tears that prick my eyes, I bear a long grimace.
I surely must be dead for a vampires hands to be considered warm.
"I'm not mad," he says softly, a strained look on his face, as though he wants to tell me something, but can't quite bring himself to say it.
"Why?" I ask, my voice rising in hysteria. Soren shushes me slightly, running his thumbs over my hands soothingly as he leans forward to place a light kiss on the top of my head. As he pulls back, that same look flashes across his face, one of slight desperation, but also that of recluse, as though entertaining the thought that telling me would only lead to more problems. After a while, he breathes a small sigh.
"Because," he murmurs at last, offering a beautiful, reassuring smile, as if that held the answer to everything. Nevertheless, seeing the comforting nature of his gesture calms me a bit, and much to my relief I find that vicious nausea in my stomach subsiding, replaced only by the bitter fear of death and decay, and the constant notion that every second spent talking with Soren is another second of my life lost. What a cruel irony.
After ensuring I am steady and not in the least prone to falling, the dark haired vampire gets up, moving away to find something from the expanse of his lengthy wardrobe across from me. I hear the soft whooshing of fabric, and the clattering of hangers. It occurs to me that I am still in the scrappy torn up clothes I was left in, but at this point I find I neither have the energy nor the want to care about such formalities. Clothes are for the living, and last I checked, I was very much on death's door.
Upon seeing the blatant dissatisfaction at my answer, Soren rolls his eyes- I suspect in a vain attempt to lighten the mood, and swans back over, sheets of fabric slung over his shoulder as he kneels gently down before me.
"You wouldn't have done it without a reason. Fangorn and Kal… They had their doubts about the sincerity of my love for you. Though I am certain they understand the gravity of the situation now. But that is a matter I shall not discuss or burden you with now. Not while you're… you're…" he fades off, voice breaking into silence, his hands grasping for the words he can't bring himself to say.
"While I am dying," I finish for him softly. He looks up through his lashes, entwining his hands into my hair as he brings his forehead to lean against mine, closing his eyes as he murmurs wilfully:
"I am not letting you die, Serena. I don't care what those bastards did to you, you aren't dying. Besides I made a promise to your… to your friend. Now, come here darling, let's get you warm. You must be freezing after being under stasis for so long," he says, brushing over my words as quickly as he dares. An urgent feeling nags at the back of my mind, urging me to protest, but I barely have enough strength left in my body to keep myself breathing, let alone talking, and so I fall into a submissive silence.
Soren brings up a spare shirt, a simple white button up that's about a size too big for me, and gently lifts one of my arms, pulling it through the sleeve hole, and then does the same to the other, his eyes focused, but his fingers shaking. Why he bothers dressing me at all is a question I can seemingly procure no answers too.
Through the shaking of my body, and the uncomfortable leaking openness of the wounds on my back, I study him carefully, soaking in every detail, fearful that each look might be my last. There is a twisted expression on his face, yet it is one I am not exclusively familiar with- he looks halfway to the point of despair, though I cannot seem to figure out why. What exactly had gone on between Soren and the two outcasts?
At last the frigid silence between us becomes unbearable.
"Soren, these are your clothes, if you put me in these they will get muddied by my blood again," I protest in a strained voice as he straightens out the collar, letting his fingers glide across my neck for a moment, lingering on my pulse, feeling a little desperately for the rhythm of my heart beneath my skin. After a few seconds he breathes an audible sigh, but the relief is short lived.
"Your clothes are ruined. And as much as I like seeing your ample breasts," he laughs to himself, perhaps as a form of distraction, beginning to button up the shirt one button at a time, working his way down in a uniform line. "I think it might be better if you were dressed warm, and at least somewhat dignified." I wrinkle my nose despairingly at him, but he doesn't seem to care. Next he warily moves down to my trousers, carefully lifting me up as he slides them off me, discarding the blood soaked rags on the floor with an obvious quickness, as though he daren't look at them too long, in fear of what the sight of blood might do to him.
Despite the fragile nature of my body, my face flushes a little. I wrangle my hands to pull down the white shirt further over my panties.
"Soren, I-"
"Hush now, we both know I have seen you with far less on, there is nothing to be ashamed of, little dove, just please let me get you changed, I cannot stand to see you with all this blood on you," he scolds teasingly, but the edge of worry is hard pressed into his voice, a permanent stain on his conscience. I have never seen him look so… concerned. There is a peculiar tension in his jaw, as though he is preparing himself for something. It's almost like in the split second when I came into his arms, he became mortal, that the cold frigidity of his vampire self had slipped away for an instant, to be replaced by the tender softness of a mortal's heart, a heart that worries unequivocally, a heart that, despite all it's strengths, is utterly and completely fragile.
Then, through the haziness of my woozy mind, I remember something.
"You said you had a decision to make, and that it took you two days to make it. What was it?"
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I awaken to find Soren's form by my side, head tipped back slightly against the lights that flicker like fireflies on the wall, an empty vial in his hands, lips moving in silent spell, face slacken, chest barely moving. Upon first glance if I didn't know any better I might have presumed him dead. But that's the thing about vampires, they already are.
There is a dull, sickly sweet taste in my mouth, the remnants of something sticky and viscous, like honey but- I find as I bring up a hand to touch my lips tentatively in an effort to to try and figure out what it is, I find that the liquid, or potion, is shimmering with flaky gold. I suppose that would explain the empty vial that Soren carries.
As soon as Soren opens his eyes and notices mine are wide open, a shudder of relief courses through him, as though part of him was half expecting me not to wake back up at all. The thought doesn't exactly sit well on my already unsettled stomach, and so it is no surprise I am quick to dismiss it. Headily, I bring a woozy hand to my head, blinking back the unusual brightness of Soren's room with hazy recognition, but on realising the instability of my condition, quickly move my hands back down to support myself. Soren wastes no time in positioning himself by my side. His hands slip around my arms, steadying my shaky body.
I feel awfully weak.
"My dove, my darling dove," he murmurs dotingly, taking my hands in his while taking an overly zealous precaution not to touch the open wounds on my back. I think he must do it to be kind, gentle with me, as so he doesn't hurt me any further, but in actuality, it only reminds me of the bitter truth of my situation: stasis did nothing for me, I am still dying. Whatever that golden potion did for me, its effects certainly aren't aiding my recovery much. The weight of this fact sits heavy in my heart. Perhaps I am going to die after all. Nervously, I take a deep breath, shifting myself carefully around to face Soren, but the effort of doing so makes the task alone almost seem hardly worth it. My muscles ache, my wounds crying out on my back.
"How long was I out for?"
It is a simple question, one that Soren should really have no trouble in answering. Yet the hesitation in his voice is distinctly evident as he turns my hands over in his own, an almost weary unwillingness in his voice as he whispers:
"Two days."
Two days? I almost want to cry. So much could happen in two days. A kingdom could collapse in two days. The stars could fall in two days. I tighten my fingers around him, squeezing his hands in mine as I try to shut out the intrusive thoughts that begin to plague my mind. Two days in an awfully long time to be stuck dying.
"But I saw a vision, Ka- someone, gave you something, it seemed like only seconds ago," I say, remembering the words Kal had begged of me with such intensity only a few days ago, to keep my knowledge of his existence a secret from Soren- yes, back when I wasn't dying.
The Scarlet Prince gives me a fragile smile.
"I know you have been in coherence with Fangorn and Kal, Serena. But yes, they gave me a potion to use if I decided to… make a decision,"
Whatever decision he is making, the thought of it soon flies out the window, replaced instead by a boiling worry that rolls in the pit of my stomach, consuming me with dread.
Soren knows I have been talking to Kal and Fangorn. Oh no...
Oh no, oh no, oh no.
"Why aren't you angry. I talked to an outcast of your society- I went against your back. You are mad, you have to be," I say, a lurching sob suddenly rising in the back of my throat as Soren steadies me, letting me lean against him as a bout of nausea begins to consume my senses. I lurch over sickeningly, but Soren holds me firmly upright, his strangely warm hands pressing up against my lower back. Through the tears that prick my eyes, I bear a long grimace.
I surely must be dead for a vampires hands to be considered warm.
"I'm not mad," he says softly, a strained look on his face, as though he wants to tell me something, but can't quite bring himself to say it.
"Why?" I ask, my voice rising in hysteria. Soren shushes me slightly, running his thumbs over my hands soothingly as he leans forward to place a light kiss on the top of my head. As he pulls back, that same look flashes across his face, one of slight desperation, but also that of recluse, as though entertaining the thought that telling me would only lead to more problems. After a while, he breathes a small sigh.
"Because," he murmurs at last, offering a beautiful, reassuring smile, as if that held the answer to everything. Nevertheless, seeing the comforting nature of his gesture calms me a bit, and much to my relief I find that vicious nausea in my stomach subsiding, replaced only by the bitter fear of death and decay, and the constant notion that every second spent talking with Soren is another second of my life lost. What a cruel irony.
After ensuring I am steady and not in the least prone to falling, the dark haired vampire gets up, moving away to find something from the expanse of his lengthy wardrobe across from me. I hear the soft whooshing of fabric, and the clattering of hangers. It occurs to me that I am still in the scrappy torn up clothes I was left in, but at this point I find I neither have the energy nor the want to care about such formalities. Clothes are for the living, and last I checked, I was very much on death's door.
Upon seeing the blatant dissatisfaction at my answer, Soren rolls his eyes- I suspect in a vain attempt to lighten the mood, and swans back over, sheets of fabric slung over his shoulder as he kneels gently down before me.
"You wouldn't have done it without a reason. Fangorn and Kal… They had their doubts about the sincerity of my love for you. Though I am certain they understand the gravity of the situation now. But that is a matter I shall not discuss or burden you with now. Not while you're… you're…" he fades off, voice breaking into silence, his hands grasping for the words he can't bring himself to say.
"While I am dying," I finish for him softly. He looks up through his lashes, entwining his hands into my hair as he brings his forehead to lean against mine, closing his eyes as he murmurs wilfully:
"I am not letting you die, Serena. I don't care what those bastards did to you, you aren't dying. Besides I made a promise to your… to your friend. Now, come here darling, let's get you warm. You must be freezing after being under stasis for so long," he says, brushing over my words as quickly as he dares. An urgent feeling nags at the back of my mind, urging me to protest, but I barely have enough strength left in my body to keep myself breathing, let alone talking, and so I fall into a submissive silence.
Soren brings up a spare shirt, a simple white button up that's about a size too big for me, and gently lifts one of my arms, pulling it through the sleeve hole, and then does the same to the other, his eyes focused, but his fingers shaking. Why he bothers dressing me at all is a question I can seemingly procure no answers too.
Through the shaking of my body, and the uncomfortable leaking openness of the wounds on my back, I study him carefully, soaking in every detail, fearful that each look might be my last. There is a twisted expression on his face, yet it is one I am not exclusively familiar with- he looks halfway to the point of despair, though I cannot seem to figure out why. What exactly had gone on between Soren and the two outcasts?
At last the frigid silence between us becomes unbearable.
"Soren, these are your clothes, if you put me in these they will get muddied by my blood again," I protest in a strained voice as he straightens out the collar, letting his fingers glide across my neck for a moment, lingering on my pulse, feeling a little desperately for the rhythm of my heart beneath my skin. After a few seconds he breathes an audible sigh, but the relief is short lived.
"Your clothes are ruined. And as much as I like seeing your ample breasts," he laughs to himself, perhaps as a form of distraction, beginning to button up the shirt one button at a time, working his way down in a uniform line. "I think it might be better if you were dressed warm, and at least somewhat dignified." I wrinkle my nose despairingly at him, but he doesn't seem to care. Next he warily moves down to my trousers, carefully lifting me up as he slides them off me, discarding the blood soaked rags on the floor with an obvious quickness, as though he daren't look at them too long, in fear of what the sight of blood might do to him.
Despite the fragile nature of my body, my face flushes a little. I wrangle my hands to pull down the white shirt further over my panties.
"Soren, I-"
"Hush now, we both know I have seen you with far less on, there is nothing to be ashamed of, little dove, just please let me get you changed, I cannot stand to see you with all this blood on you," he scolds teasingly, but the edge of worry is hard pressed into his voice, a permanent stain on his conscience. I have never seen him look so… concerned. There is a peculiar tension in his jaw, as though he is preparing himself for something. It's almost like in the split second when I came into his arms, he became mortal, that the cold frigidity of his vampire self had slipped away for an instant, to be replaced by the tender softness of a mortal's heart, a heart that worries unequivocally, a heart that, despite all it's strengths, is utterly and completely fragile.
Then, through the haziness of my woozy mind, I remember something.
"You said you had a decision to make, and that it took you two days to make it. What was it?"
I awaken to find Soren's form by my side, head tipped back slightly against the lights that flicker like fireflies on the wall, an empty vial in his hands, lips moving in silent spell, face slacken, chest barely moving. Upon first glance if I didn't know any better I might have presumed him dead. But that's the thing about vampires, they already are.There is a dull, sickly sweet taste in my mouth, the remnants of something sticky and viscous, like honey but- I find as I bring up a hand to touch my lips tentatively in an effort to to try and figure out what it is, I find that the liquid, or potion, is shimmering with flaky gold. I suppose that would explain the empty vial that Soren carries. As soon as Soren opens his eyes and notices mine are wide open, a shudder of relief courses through him, as though part of him was half expecting me not to wake back up at all. The thought doesn't exactly sit well on my already unsettled stomach, and so it is no surprise I am quick to dismiss it. Headily, I bring a woozy hand to my head, blinking back the unusual brightness of Soren's room with hazy recognition, but on realising the instability of my condition, quickly move my hands back down to support myself. Soren wastes no time in positioning himself by my side. His hands slip around my arms, steadying my shaky body.I feel awfully weak."My dove, my darling dove," he murmurs dotingly, taking my hands in his while taking an overly zealous precaution not to touch the open wounds on my back. I think he must do it to be kind, gentle with me, as so he doesn't hurt me any further, but in actuality, it only reminds me of the bitter truth of my situation: stasis did nothing for me, I am still dying. Whatever that golden potion did for me, its effects certainly aren't aiding my recovery much. The weight of this fact sits heavy in my heart. Perhaps I am going to die after all. Nervously, I take a deep breath, shifting myself carefully around to face Soren, but the effort of doing so makes the task alone almost seem hardly worth it. My muscles ache, my wounds crying out on my back."How long was I out for?"It is a simple question, one that Soren should really have no trouble in answering. Yet the hesitation in his voice is distinctly evident as he turns my hands over in his own, an almost weary unwillingness in his voice as he whispers:"Two days."Two days? I almost want to cry. So much could happen in two days. A kingdom could collapse in two days. The stars could fall in two days. I tighten my fingers around him, squeezing his hands in mine as I try to shut out the intrusive thoughts that begin to plague my mind. Two days in an awfully long time to be stuck dying. "But I saw a vision, Ka- someone, gave you something, it seemed like only seconds ago," I say, remembering the words Kal had begged of me with such intensity only a few days ago, to keep my knowledge of his existence a secret from Soren- yes, back when I wasn't dying.The Scarlet Prince gives me a fragile smile."I know you have been in coherence with Fangorn and Kal, Serena. But yes, they gave me a potion to use if I decided to make a decision,"Whatever decision he is making, the thought of it soon flies out the window, replaced instead by a boiling worry that rolls in the pit of my stomach, consuming me with dread.Soren knows I have been talking to Kal and Fangorn. Oh no...Oh no, oh no, oh no."Why aren't you angry. I talked to an outcast of your society- I went against your back. You are mad, you have to be," I say, a lurching sob suddenly rising in the back of my throat as Soren steadies me, letting me lean against him as a bout of nausea begins to consume my senses. I lurch over sickeningly, but Soren holds me firmly upright, his strangely warm hands pressing up against my lower back. Through the tears that prick my eyes, I bear a long grimace.I surely must be dead for a vampires hands to be considered warm."I'm not mad," he says softly, a strained look on his face, as though he wants to tell me something, but can't quite bring himself to say it."Why?" I ask, my voice rising in hysteria. Soren shushes me slightly, running his thumbs over my hands soothingly as he leans forward to place a light kiss on the top of my head. As he pulls back, that same look flashes across his face, one of slight desperation, but also that of recluse, as though entertaining the thought that telling me would only lead to more problems. After a while, he breathes a small sigh."Because," he murmurs at last, offering a beautiful, reassuring smile, as if that held the answer to everything. Nevertheless, seeing the comforting nature of his gesture calms me a bit, and much to my relief I find that vicious nausea in my stomach subsiding, replaced only by the bitter fear of death and decay, and the constant notion that every second spent talking with Soren is another second of my life lost. What a cruel irony.After ensuring I am steady and not in the least prone to falling, the dark haired vampire gets up, moving away to find something from the expanse of his lengthy wardrobe across from me. I hear the soft whooshing of fabric, and the clattering of hangers. It occurs to me that I am still in the scrappy torn up clothes I was left in, but at this point I find I neither have the energy nor the want to care about such formalities. Clothes are for the living, and last I checked, I was very much on death's door.Upon seeing the blatant dissatisfaction at my answer, Soren rolls his eyes- I suspect in a vain attempt to lighten the mood, and swans back over, sheets of fabric slung over his shoulder as he kneels gently down before me."You wouldn't have done it without a reason. Fangorn and Kal They had their doubts about the sincerity of my love for you. Though I am certain they understand the gravity of the situation now. But that is a matter I shall not discuss or burden you with now. Not while you're you're" he fades off, voice breaking into silence, his hands grasping for the words he can't bring himself to say."While I am dying," I finish for him softly. He looks up through his lashes, entwining his hands into my hair as he brings his forehead to lean against mine, closing his eyes as he murmurs wilfully:"I am not letting you die, Serena. I don't care what those bastards did to you, you aren't dying. Besides I made a promise to your to your friend. Now, come here darling, let's get you warm. You must be freezing after being under stasis for so long," he says, brushing over my words as quickly as he dares. An urgent feeling nags at the back of my mind, urging me to protest, but I barely have enough strength left in my body to keep myself breathing, let alone talking, and so I fall into a submissive silence.Soren brings up a spare shirt, a simple white button up that's about a size too big for me, and gently lifts one of my arms, pulling it through the sleeve hole, and then does the same to the other, his eyes focused, but his fingers shaking. Why he bothers dressing me at all is a question I can seemingly procure no answers too. Through the shaking of my body, and the uncomfortable leaking openness of the wounds on my back, I study him carefully, soaking in every detail, fearful that each look might be my last. There is a twisted expression on his face, yet it is one I am not exclusively familiar with- he looks halfway to the point of despair, though I cannot seem to figure out why. What exactly had gone on between Soren and the two outcasts? At last the frigid silence between us becomes unbearable."Soren, these are your clothes, if you put me in these they will get muddied by my blood again," I protest in a strained voice as he straightens out the collar, letting his fingers glide across my neck for a moment, lingering on my pulse, feeling a little desperately for the rhythm of my heart beneath my skin. After a few seconds he breathes an audible sigh, but the relief is short lived."Your clothes are ruined. And as much as I like seeing your ample breasts," he laughs to himself, perhaps as a form of distraction, beginning to button up the shirt one button at a time, working his way down in a uniform line. "I think it might be better if you were dressed warm, and at least somewhat dignified." I wrinkle my nose despairingly at him, but he doesn't seem to care. Next he warily moves down to my trousers, carefully lifting me up as he slides them off me, discarding the blood soaked rags on the floor with an obvious quickness, as though he daren't look at them too long, in fear of what the sight of blood might do to him.Despite the fragile nature of my body, my face flushes a little. I wrangle my hands to pull down the white shirt further over my panties."Soren, I-""Hush now, we both know I have seen you with far less on, there is nothing to be ashamed of, little dove, just please let me get you changed, I cannot stand to see you with all this blood on you," he scolds teasingly, but the edge of worry is hard pressed into his voice, a permanent stain on his conscience. I have never seen him look so concerned. There is a peculiar tension in his jaw, as though he is preparing himself for something. It's almost like in the split second when I came into his arms, he became mortal, that the cold frigidity of his vampire self had slipped away for an instant, to be replaced by the tender softness of a mortal's heart, a heart that worries unequivocally, a heart that, despite all it's strengths, is utterly and completely fragile.Then, through the haziness of my woozy mind, I remember something."You said you had a decision to make, and that it took you two days to make it. What was it?"
