She grew up in the clutches of poverty; He was raised in the lap of luxury.
She hated nobles; He couldn't be bothered with commoners.
Her heart hidden deep in thorny vines; His one burning in his sleeves.
She was the recently orphaned flower seller;...
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Isolde POV
"You look like a clown," I say, trying to rile up Akira enough to incite an answer from him. But as expected, the attempt was a failure.
He has been unusually quiet since we eavesdropped on the conversation between Inayat and Dayuu. Even now, he was so deep in thoughts that he didn't even notice when the Fae nurse was done with her healing.
"Akira, Akira?" Despite my calling, he kept looking outside the window. The glass of his unicorn tears in his hands was left untouched.
So I clap my hands loudly in front of him to snap him out of his thoughts. He looks startled by the loud noise and looks at me with a questioning gaze.
"It's done, your dressing. Nurse Afreda said we can leave," I explain in a quiet voice, sensing the distaste from other patients in the wing.
"Oh, I didn't notice. Yes, let's go," Akira says and quickly gulps down the healing drink in his hand. We thank the stoic Fae nurse on our way out who just gave us a small nod. We start to walk back to the dorm.
I look outside the windows of the corridor to see the evening sky had started to pull the blanket of a starry night. Stars flickering like candles were getting ready to mesmerize us with their dazzling presence. The chilly northern wind blew my hair softly with a premonition of winter that is soon to come.
Winter. The first one since mama left. The first one since I left it all behind. The first one inside a sturdy castle and ample food instead of a shaky cottage with expired rations.
I still couldn't believe I was here.
I look at Akira. His now bandaged white-nose was a stark contrast to his flushed face in the cold.
He was walking in a daze and for some reason clutching his left sleeve tightly with his right hand.
"Is there any hidden treasure in your sleeves? I'm not gonna steal it if that's what you're afraid of." I try to joke with him, waiting for him to reply with his usual snark.
"It's nothing valuable," he replies in a hollow voice as if trying not to attach any emotions to it. But anyone with ears could feel the dull pain in them.
"You know my mom always used to say that pain is like the dagger that cuts you until your hands have no other option but to wield it as a sword that pierces somebody else," I say in a quiet voice hoping he will share whatever that is bothering him with someone.
My words were followed by nothing but silence and our footsteps. Well, guess the person he will be sharing is not me.
Don't be a hypocrite, Izzy, you won't share your pain with anyone for a year, don't expect others to follow your advice either.
