.ೃ࿐Burning Souls.ೃ࿐ [1]

18 - Alienation

Alienation

The state of being , withdrawn, or isolated from the objective world.

The moment she woke up, her demeanor changed.

She was greeted by the stone-cold walls of her quarters. Nikolai sitting by her bed. Heat coming out of the fireplace.

Not enough heat, she thought.

It took a while for her to accommodate. Nikolai explained how they found her. However, she refused to talk about what truly happened. The healer described to her the best he could her physical state. She listened yet didn't reply, only nodded to every word.

When she was left alone with the prince, silence established between them. Ekaterina was staring at the ceiling, lost in her thoughts. Nikolai was staring at her.

"I don't want to talk about it," she said meeting his gaze. The man nodded. It was her wish and he respected that.

Nikolai rose from his seat. He brought his hand and placed it on the woman's shoulder. At first, she flinched. The gesture hurt Nikolai, but he understood her wariness. When she saw it was only him, Ekaterina nodded, and the corners of her mouth rose in a horrible attempt of smiling.

"I'll leave you," said Nikolai quietly, "if you need anything, I'll be in my chambers."

Ekaterina didn't respond and let him go. She didn't want him to go. She didn't want to be alone. But she didn't say that out loud. When he closed the door behind him, Ekaterina released a shaking breath. She looked around the room in panic and quickly got out of bed.

Almost falling when she put pressure on her leg, she hissed and leaned on the wall with a pained expression. She didn't care though. Even if it hurt, she continued her attempt at walking until she arrived in front of the only desk in the room.

A box was placed on it and Ekaterina opened it. She took the multitude of candles and placed them everywhere. Everywhere. In every corner that harbored darkness. And with a painful but successful usage of the little science, the candles were lit, and the room wasn't engulfed in darkness anymore.

She sat back down on the bed and sighed. Looking down at her leg, the Kerch woman frowned. With shaking hands, she messily took off the bandaged and started with horror at her wound.

It had been pretty well patched up. The bone wasn't tangible anymore and flesh wasn't flying in every direction. The way the healer stitched her flesh back up reminded her of a mosaic. She traced the lines, softly not to hurt herself even more.

But what horrified her were the dark and black lines, mixed with the dark red of her skin, that defined each piece of the mosaic. It was like ink. Maybe, if it weren't for that, the wound wouldn't have left a scar. But with the dark mark of the nichevo'ya, her leg would always be a reminder of her pain, of the Darkling. She couldn't even think of the limp she would be forced to live with forever. At least she would match with one of her acquaintances back in Kerch (if she could call him an acquaintance...).

With a pained and trembling sigh, she rose again and limped towards the bathroom. Staring at her reflection in the small mirror, she couldn't recognize herself. She was extremely tired by the look of the bags under her eyes, and her face was littered with small cuts and scars.

What made Ekaterina grimace was her hair. Her long and auburn hair. She couldn't stare at it. It was a mess.

She opened one of the cupboards and took a pair of scissors. With small movements, she cut it, strand by strand, until it only reached above her shoulders.