[Ongoing]
"Why is being myself harder than anything?"
Qing Lin closed her eyes. A girl whose smile gave off the effulgence which seemed to light the diminished world around her. A girl who held such purity in a world surrounded by happiness. A girl...
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Qing Lin held up the picture to her face, and scrutinized it; she couldn't make out a single difference from the one she saw back at Alexandre's. How could Salvador have obtained this picture? Could it be he already knew about Alexandre's weakness? But the foremost question in her head when she held up the picture was: Who was this girl? Seeing her twice, and both in peculiar places was enough to make her curious.
Suddenly, she became aware of approaching footsteps. She pushed the image back between the pages of the book, placed the book exactly where it had been, and held up her necklace, hoping to become back into the spirit she was. Indeed, her body became ethereal the next moment. She realized the necklace obeyed her thoughts, which was much more convenient.
Salvador entered the room, and Qing Lin swore she could've seen him flinch for a second when he saw her, but his face was so impassive, that it made her doubt herself.
"You're not asleep yet?" He asked quietly.
"No, but you've returned rather early today? It's been barely ten minutes since you left..." Qing Lin said, but paused when her eyes fell on his hand, which was covered with something that looked suspiciously like...
Blood.
No, it wasn't covered. It was bleeding profusely, slowly staining the white carpet on the floor below it.
"You're bleeding?" She spoke after a minute of silence.
"Hmm," Salvador nodded and opened the bathroom door, allowing the ice-cold running water to fall from the tap on his hands. He emerged a few minutes later, and although his hand was less bloodied, it seemed to be still injured. Qing Lin spotted a large, fresh wound on the palm of his right hand. She was half-expecting Salvador to ring for any maid to assist him with the dressing of the wound, however, he took out a parchment, quill, and ink bottle from the lowermost drawer of the table.
He placed the parchment on the table and began to write something. Again, watching him write under the lamp's flicker, she half-expected him to wince, stop, and dress his wound himself at the very least. But he just continued to write stoically. After a few minutes, he folded the parchment and left the room. Minutes later, he entered again and settled on the chair, a first aid kit in his other hand. Qing Lin felt relieved at the sight of it.
He applied the antiseptic and dressed the wound. But curiosity started to creep into Qing Lin's mind... He's the young master. Surely a doctor should come running for him at any wound?
And for the first time, she realized how little they knew about each other, apart from their names and titles. And the odd thing was, she felt frustrated about it.
...
Qing Lin stopped by the shop she had previously visited and plopped down on a chair. Amid the ardent people, who were extremely unlike her, Qing Lin felt suffocated and out of place, so she stopped by a familiar place for a break. Lune, the young boy she had saved, was listening intently to a storyteller who narrated him various versions of different myths. Lune was better than before; he was much healthier, clean, no longer timid, and there was a bright glow to his spirit. The storyteller finished his declamation, handed him a few candies, and sailed off to another place.
Lune noticed Qing Lin. He shyly approached Qing Lin, and looking up at him closely, Qing Lin was enchanted by his spirit and his innocence.
"Um... C_Can I sit here?" He stuttered. Unfortunately, he had always been a stutterer, a fact he was always ridiculed for. Qing Lin nodded as she gulped down a glass of water, and watched him climb the stool that was a little bigger than his size.
"Do you like candies?" She asked when he successfully managed to climb the stool.
"Um, y_yes, I d_do," He said as he fiddled with the candies.
"You're Lune, right?" She asked, and he nodded. "Well, you can call me Qing Lin then."
"B_But you're older t_than m_me..." He said.
"I'm just fifteen, not much. Or you can choose what to call me."
"T_Then can I call you s_sister Lin?" He asked shyly, looking down at his hands but occasionally looking up at her. Qing Lin felt a concussion down her body and a giggling but deriding voice echoed in her head.
Sister Lin, why do you look so pale?
"Sure," Qing Lin managed with a strained smile, brushing off the voice. Lune's face brightened.
