Sweet Innocence and Gentle Sin || 𝐀𝐂𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐑

Chapter 11: I Can't Stand You Being Hurt

I am the face of loves rage

~)(~

The moon continued to rise high into the sky and stare down in its fullness. Stars glistened and shimmered above me as I walked through the fire-lit camp. It was quieter now, but the moaning sounds of men writhing in pain still echoed in the back of my mind. I almost forgot how quiet it could become.

Like the settling of dust. It flies around in the air, zipping through panes of light, then settles on every surface it can find. It never moves again after that, not unless you blow upon it.

Miryam and I were in a tent cleaning the aftermath of an emergency surgery. I was in charge of cleaning off the table while she tried her best to soak up the blood on the ground with spare towels. From what I gathered, this person didn't make it through and bled out.

The two of us walked out of the tent into the night air, and I rolled my neck to attempt loosening the tension there. "Did we get through everything?" I asked, referring to the list she made earlier.

She rubbed her temples. "I don't want to know. Let's just say that we have."

"I can do that," I said, smiling at her.

I said goodnight and started walking towards my little sleeping tent. By this point, I was very familiar with the camp layout. You needed to when running around trying to keep men from dying.

I walked up and was about to go inside when something caught my eye. A few steps away, one fire was still lit. And sitting beside that fire was Azriel. I thought he would've gone to bed hours ago, yet there he was. I told myself to leave it alone, to just go inside my tent and finally rest. But when have I ever listened to my rationale?

I walked over to where the flame reached towards me like claws of weeds blowing in the wind. I felt the heat slowly rise where light touched me, and I sat on a stool opposite him. The fire danced between us, obscuring half of his face in shadow.

I didn't come here to talk—I actually don't know why I sat down. But I found that once I was here, I really wanted to ask him one question. A question I knew he would probably try to kill me for.

"Why... what happened?" I asked, having to raise my voice slightly.

His gaze snapped up, and he hummed an acknowledging response before saying, "what?"

I looked down at his hands, gloved in leather and adorned in cobalt Siphons. "Your—erm... your hands?" Mother above, I sounded so weak. So afraid of what would happen. I knew already—simply from existing near him—that those hands held a dark story.

His eyes widened slightly, catching the light. I watched him closely, perhaps too closely. Focused on his every move. Azriel took in a deep breath, straightening his back. His wings rustled behind him, almost invisible in this darkness.

"I'd like to know what you think happened," he finally said, voice a chilling calm.

I tilted my head, pausing a moment. Not the response I expected. "They were burned. But for some reason, never healed properly."

"Is that so?"

My brows knit. What was he playing at? I cleared my throat and said, "I know Illyrians have faster healing. Whatever happened kept your body from recovering."

He leaned his head on a hand and said, "what else could you possibly need to know?"

"I... I don't know," I answered, before taking a deep breath. I did know, but perhaps I shouldn't ask.