The Bane of Light

Scarves

"I was something else, not a girl, not a wolf,
something blank eyed, tired"-
Catherynne M. Valente, The Bread We Eat in Dreams

∞

I had kept on healing patches all night, replacing them every couple hours when I would jolt from a nightmare in a cold sweat. My shadows lulled around me as a comforting presence, smothering all unwanted light from my room, cloaking it in complete darkness. The stillness of it reminded me of the oblivion, and helped me sleep better  than I would ever admit. I knew they were trying to make up for panicking and abandoning me when faced with Paris' magic. I did not fault them for it, after all I was in a pathetic frenzy as well.

In the morning, they put on a light show for me, having small flickers of light fall on my face, playing a game of cat and mouse. But by the time I dragged myself out of bed, the remnants of last night rushed back to me like a kick to the stomach. I felt as though my body was tied down with sandbags, my motions slurred and heavier than usual.

'You will feel better once you have eaten' The shadows whispered to me, pouncing around the room in various animal forms. They intended to make me feel better, amusing me with the shadow puppet show. A fox scampered across my room chasing a hare, before they mixed and turned into an atrocity of a fox/hare mix. It stood on it's hind legs in a beastly manner, trying to walk like a zombie or a mummified human. I blew air out of my nose while my lips perked up, my throat still too sore to audibly laugh at the scene.

The momentary glee that the sight filled me with, quickly leaked away at the daunting thought of removing my patches. My mood drained and my face turned sour. I hadn't looked at them since the burn was a raw, bleeding mess, the scorched, displaced skin hanging limply. Sensing my cowardly anxiety, shadows brushed on my shoulders, acting like a supporting arm wrapped around me.

Mustering whatever I had left from my meek reserve of courage, I planted myself in-front of my silver capped mirror. I stood there for a few seconds, observing my tired complexion. My face was paler than usual, taking on a chalky shade. It contrasted harshly from the prominent bags under my eyes, circling them like smudges of kohl lining. My face was gaunt and feverish, and my eyes were bloodshot.  Ghastly. It took exhausting amounts of energy to finally drag my arms up and pull at the bandages around my neck. They had seeped red throughout the night, despite me changing them so often.

After peeling the healing patch from my neck, I cringed at horror of deformed skin below. The previously pink, fleshy streaks had been turned white, resembling silver roots slithering up my neck in intricate patters. They toppled over each other like roads often did on maps, criss-crossing and intertwining with one another in a disarray. It was a small mercy that the handprints were no longer visible, with the scars having turned white and the inflammation going down. Now I just had a vice of gnarled tree roots plastered to my skin, the texture contrasting from the rest of my smooth skin. I wanted to scratch the scars off, but hissed back in pain upon contact.

Tenderly wrapping my shadow collar around my neck, I began preparing for my day, being extra careful to keep my neck untouched. I found the most difficult task to be getting dressed. I  wheezed in pain every time fabric even slightly  brushed my neck.

It was much better healed than it would have been without magical properties, but it was still wounded and raw, so I had to be careful while putting on my clothing. I slid into my high-waisted, black, billowy pants, tucking them in at the knee into my wyvern-hide leather boots. On top, I wore a simple, black, turtle-neck, making sure the collar didn't chafe my neck by plastering  healing patches to the skin underneath.

Once done,  I turned my whole body slowly--having lost mobility in my neck--to examine my outfit. With black on black on black, and with my loose pants, I looked like some war general. All I needed was a ten-ton sword and a dozen battle scars to finish off the look. I sighed at the sight. It wasn't as though I purposefully picked a sinister color scheme, I just liked the color black. That and the fact that color was easier to get blood out of.