Curse Uncurse - ONC 2020 [Completed]

Chapter 7: The tearful, the missing, and the dead

Plamen groans, rubbing his eyes, but it doesn't help with the headache that has woken him up. The bed is comfortable (he's lying on the bed, right?) making him burrow further into soft blankets.

"Plamen?"

It's Zima, whispering questioningly somewhere near him. He pulls the blanket over his head, keeping his eyes closed.

"I know you are awake." Her amused tone is quiet, just like before.

"No."

"Fine," she allows. He can imagine her grinning.

Why is she here? Where is here? Now that these questions float around his mind, he knows he won't be getting back to dreams. Agh. Freaking curiosity. His brain should really stop with that.

He shuffles up with another groan, the blanket falling to his lap as he levers on one hand and brings the other to pinch the bridge of his nose. It's right behind his closed eyes. The pinprick of pain, spreading all over.

"Here, this will help you," Zima says softly.

He's weighing whether to open his eyes or not. A small crack between his eyelids lets him see a dark green cup being shoved in his face.

He shifts his eyes at the owner of the hand holding the cup. "What's that?"

A smug look on her face tells him nothing. "A remedy. Your head must be killing you. I know mine sure did when I woke up."

He eyes the cup like it would bite him; immature, he's aware, but he never liked the concoctions of any kind considering he usually finds them disgusting.

"Here, here." Still holding it offered, Zima shakes the cup in front of him.

He glowers at her, the pain almost forgotten. "Do I look like a fucking cat?"

"You are as grumpy as one."

He snatches the cup from her hand and brings it to his lips. Before tasting it, he takes a small sniff. Not bad, smells like honey and almonds. He takes a sip and cringes. Too many sweet flavors, but he'll survive.

"How long have you been up?" he asks between the sips. Some time after starting to drink he situated himself more firmly into the sitting position on the mattress. His eyes are still half-closed at this point, but he can clearly detect the faint red of Zima's robe. He glances down and sees the rugged necklace is still falling over his collarbones all the way to the middle of his chest, thanking the Gods no one tried to take his clothing off, or anything else for that matter. He hates it when people rummage through his things.

"Maybe an hour," she replies after a moment. "Vid is still dead to the world." She points over her left shoulder.

Plamen understands. Actually he doesn't. How can she know if Vid is sleeping? He could have woken up while she's hanging out in his room...

Wait.

His eyes nearly pop out of his head as he takes in the room. It's not his room, at least not anymore. it's also not someone else's room. He notes two more beds, each at its own corner, Vid softly snoring in one. What the heck?

"It was like that when I woke up," Zima says. She is sitting on the wooden chair he had in the room that was assigned to him in the beginning. "They somehow merged our rooms into one."

Wow. Plamen's mind rushes to find an explanation as he ignores somewhat stabbing sensation behind his eyes. He remembers bits and pieces of information about the castle, and while this seems over the top, it is still in the realm of possibility. Especially since it is said that the stone bricks that make it are carved with specific magical properties, essentially making them pliant to molding.