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chapter seven swallow the truth (or spit it out?)
Sabrina scrubs her hands until the skin is raw and pink, and even then the blood does not completely fade away. It congeals underneath her nails and stains the sleeves of her tunic. She grips the edge of the sink and stares up at her reflection in the mirror. Tired brow eyes greet her own and Sabrina's heart sinks in sorrow for herself. Her face is littered with tiny cuts—enough to make constellations out of them—the gash on her forehead is still present, though the bleeding has slowed significantly. Her palms sting from the small cuts that bleed profusely upon her prodding, leaving a pink tint on the surface of the pure white basin. Sabrina lets out a shaking breath and splashes her face with water. For now, they're safe. The pretty doctor—Christine—was nice enough to allow her to use the sink in the small room that connects to the operating theatre.
Faintly, through the closed door she hears voices outside—one belonging to Christine, and the other belonging to Stephen. She doesn't know what Christine is to Stephen—whether she is an old friend or old colleague, or even something more, Sabrina does not get a chance to ask. She does not have the time. All the time in the world is running against Stephen. Sabrina understands that he might not live through the night. She turns around from the sink and places her hands behind her head, letting out a strangled sob. If only they had had more time. Maybe Stephen would be okay. Maybe Abiral would still be alive. Maybe Sabrina would be okay. But time has never been on their side.
In a way, Sabrina thinks she understands Kaecilius and his followers. Time is not very forgiving. Time only takes and takes away from us. But that is the natural order of things. That is how the universe works. Sabrina has come to terms with this a long time ago, but Kaecilius is not. It is possible to be resentful of how the world works without being cruel to others. It is possible to wish for eternal life without snuffing out others in the process. While Sabrina may agree with Kaecilius in principle, she does not agree with him in practice. Not when the Dark Dimension threatens to consume their world whole.
When she emerges from the small room, wiping furiously at her face, the operating theater is dark. Papers and instruments are strewn about the floor. Christine hovers over Stephen's body, breathing shallowly as she stitches the two sides of his flesh back together. Sabrina raises her eyebrows but does not say anything, and instead crosses her arms as she hovers in the background. She doesn't know if she is welcome to approach the operating table. She feels as though this is supposed to be a tender moment between two old friends—or two old lovers—and she doesn't want to infringe on it.
