The Sleeping Girl

Chapter Seventeen

The room makes Isabelle's seem like a paradise.

On the exterior, the room is bright and cheerful. Well, as cheerful as a hospital room can be, anyways. The fluorescent overhead lights reflect on the sterile white walls and shiny metal countertop on one side of the room. Some gadgets that I feel like Amanda told me of their uses at some time but I've already forgotten cover the room. A couple informative posters are plastered, around, and a bouquet of colorful balloons sits in one corner, held down by a large, brown teddy bear. A steady methodical beeping penetrates the otherwise silent room.

On the inside though, the room is, quite frankly, a death trap. The aura of dark creatures is rampantly thick. 'Tis so powerfully dark, so strong and fierce, I can nearly grasp it; it's almost a tangible object. Standing out especially strongly is the aura of the fey. And not the good fey. The dark, monstrous faeries that lurk in the shadows and inflict pain upon all. Overall, the air in the room if full of sickness, hurt, and pain, both physical and mental. 

Walking in, a stagger a little, and put one hand on the wall to steady myself. The smoky air outside would be delightful as opposed to breathing in this darkness. Mike shoots me a worried look. Since he and Carmi cannot feel auras, I doubt it is affecting them as strongly as I, if at all. 

"Are you okay?" he asks.

"Fine," I say, standing myself up again, and forcing myself to try to look past all the darkness.

And when I do, I see her. My eyes zero in on the sickly girl confined to a small bed in the corner, hooked up to the beeping machine. She's covered by a thin blanket, one arm sticking out in the sleeve of a mint green paper hospital gown, with a large needle inserted into her arm.

Her face is frighteningly gaunt, with her bones practically sticking out above her hollow, sunken in cheeks. Her skin in a deathly white, with the only spots of color being numerous large pimples and misshapen patches of purple and green bruises, some of them even raising to form welts. Her hair is greasy and stringy and tied back messily, a obviously once vibrant red color that is now covered with grime. Clearly, physical appearance is not as important as, well, staying alive, and my heart goes out to her. 

Despite everything, the girl's eyes are a clear, bright, emerald green, filled with life and light. And as we enter her room, those eyes lock with mine and understanding dawns in them. She might not know everything about society, but she knows her connection to me. Maybe not in so many words, she knows that she is the Sleeping Girl.

That moment is the exact moment that my mark stops burning. It's over. I've found her. I've finally, finally, found her. I've really done it. According to the natural magic of the Earth, my job is over. And now, after five hundred years, I can finally rest.

Except I know that that's not true. Technically, sure, but in reality, that's something so much bigger than just my mark. My job is just beginning. This girl is hiding out, sickly in a hospital, and that's not where she needs to be tomorrow. Tomorrow, when she must go to sleep or darkness will will and the natural order of the world will be disrupted.

"Who are you?" she rasps in a hoarse voice. It makes my heart break to see what has happened to her.

"I'm Keela," I say. "And I'm here to bring you to your destiny."

"You do know that that's a really cliché thing to say?"

I give a weak smile. "But nothing about this is chiché. I walk hesitantly over to her bedside, which almost physically pains me; the darkness emiting from it is so strong. When I get closer, I can really see just how bad it is. 

Her arm is covered up and down with scrapes and cuts, green and purple blobby bruises, bandages and medical tape. All of which should have been long gone based off how long it's been since she got attacked.