Chapter 11: The Prince's Pain

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Time does what it always does.

It passes.

A few days grow into weeks, until the October rain turns into November snow.

My back heals, slowly. It seems to heal slower everytime. At least, by Thanksgiving, it stops bleeding regularly.

As an extended punishment for breaking curfew, Dad has me scrub the kitchen floors at the morning as well as the regular night scrubbing for a month. It means that I get to wake up at 4:30, an hour early, and that Lucy needs to get up at the same time for me to have any time to help her get ready.

I'm almost at the end of the month. At the end of every day, Lucy's eyes are even more tired and purple than normal. Hopefully returning to our original sleep pattern will help fix that, at least a little.

The first night it snows, it takes nearly half an hour to walk home. The drifts of downy flakes are walls against my legs, but not dense enough to walk on. I pull my meager coat tighter around my shoulders and wrap my scarf as a hat around my head, but my face still burns with cold. The wind blows so steadily against me that it feels like hail.

When I finally get home, I can barely keep my eyes open through my chores. Exhaustion has hit me like a truck for a month. When Lucy asks why the bags under my eyes are dark as a thunderstorm, I tell her that I'm trying to make myself look more intimidating, like Eleven in season 2 of Stranger Things.

I don't tell her that when I close my eyes I begin thinking of him. It becomes a habit to push him out of my mind during the day, but at night, when my mind is exposed and difficult to control, I'm almost able to see him in the darkness. It sends me into a state of anxiety that fills my every pore. So, needless to say, I don't get much sleep.

I finally finish cleaning the dining chairs at midnight. The stairs seem crooked and wavering as I climb them.

When I close my eyes, I'm so tired that the vision of Prince Orion is almost defeated by my fatigue. My fingertips are filled with lead, like prison chains. It makes me feel like my body is sinking towards the ocean floor.

I reach out across the blankets and intertwine my hand with the Prince's. He presses a kiss to my forehead, warm and close. His other hand sifts through the bottom of my hair in a meticulous gesture of love. As I curl myself into him in the darkness, I realize that I am dreaming.

"Wake up," he murmurs against my skin.

But I don't care, really, that it's a dream. There's no pain for me to feel here, and my limbs are light as air.

I reach out and pull myself closer to him. His scent is fresh rain - but he smells like home. Real home. A strange warmth drips over my hand and I pull it back from him. It comes away from his shirt wet with blood.

"Wake up!" The Prince repeats with a stressed urgency.

A stabbing pain erupts on my side, between two of my ribs.

"Ah!" I gasp, bolting upright in bed. It takes a moment before I can get past the sensation that is overwhelming my internal comm system with ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch.

I grapple with my shirt and examine my left side. There's not even an old scar in the stinging area. I try to silence my agony as I feel around the area. Could I have broken a rib, somehow? I can't feel any blood or see any bruising.

I wince with a sharp intake of breath as another stinging wave hits my side. What is this? What -

The Prince.

The Prince.

This isn't my pain. All of the blood in my body takes an Exodus to my feet, leaving a pale and shaking anxiety in its place.

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