“No,” I say quickly. “I mean, yes, you should.”
“Good. It’s not too far from pet.”
“Right.”
A gentle amusement flickers in his eyes but it's fleeting as his face turns grim.
Oh. We have to say goodbye now. I squirm under his gaze, chest suddenly heavy. He leaves every day. This day shouldn’t be any different but my emotions thicken and curdle. I could spin circles around them and still not understand myself.
Is it because we’d spent so much time together? Because he’s going to be gone for more than a single day this time? I can feel the blood beating in my face. What should I even say?Have a good timeorsee you later?Or based on his weaponrybe carefulandtry not to die?
I bolt off the couch like a coward and hurry toward the bathroom like it’s my salvation, squeaking out a feeble bye over my shoulder. The door slams shut behind me with a clunk and I lean my back against it, holding my breath as I listen. Pretty sure I’ve baffled him because several seconds absent of sound ensues before his boots thump against the wooden floorboards and the click of the chamber door shuts behind him.
I release the breath I’m holding in…relief? Dismay? I stand there for several minutes, the silence thundering in my ears. Now, I’m alone with only the daemon and my thoughts for company. For the next three days.
I strip off myclothes and study myself in the mirror for the first time in days. My skin is stretched tight across my cheekbones, my face gaunt, and dark circles bloom like crescent moons under my eyes. But still whole—still here. I turn away from my emaciated reflection and climb into the tub. I spend a long time there—carefully scrubbing every inch of my body pretending I can take each bad memory with it.
I steal Sitri’s fluffy robe and drape it around my shoulders. The bedroom is as we left it. The side of the bed still rumpled from where Sitri had hauled me out of here.
I’m grateful there’s no trace of blood. At the least, I have the bed all to myself for the next few days. I bring all of my books and the grimoire to the bed with me.
I spend the rest of the day there, even eating there when my plate arrives for dinner. I read and periodically scribble things in the grimoire when I come across something worth reading into. I read about the Lethe River and the Ettin Wood, where Sitri had healed me. There’s nothing that insinuates it has any magical healing properties.
I spend the first half of the next day in bed, too, until I grow too restless to lie there for another moment. The daemon comes back in full force. I pace the chambers and step out onto the balcony periodically to soak up the sun like a houseplant.
His chambers are cluttered and covered in a thick layer of dust. He probably could have them clean with a few flicks of his hand but he can’t even be bothered to do that. I need something to do anyway. I locate some rags in the bathroom cabinet and get to work.
I’ve never cleaned a day in my life, but if I don’t find something to occupy my mind, I might seriously lose my sanity. Once I’ve started, I’m in it. I dust every strange object on his shelves, wiping them until they’re pristine and placing them carefully into their places--even taking the liberty to rearrange things in a way that’s more visually pleasing.
I scrub the floors, the walls, and the windows until I’m red in the face. It feels good to expend the effort into something. The fireplace and table are the worst of it, covered in a thick layer of grime and stains from years of brewing a slew of ingredients. I work at them until they shine. I make the bed and beat the dust out of the curtains, organize his closet, and refold each pair of pants in his drawers.
Once finished, I start on the ingredient shelf. Wiping the dust from the vials, organizing them into alphabetical order and scribbling each name of the ingredients into the grimoire until I know what each ingredient is for, where it can be located and what its uses are. Among the bunch are potions the grimoire states will force people into telling the truth, poisons, potions that cause paralysis. After I discover how nefarious many of them are, I handle them more carefully, touching them only with the cloth.
When I get to the one labeled Shamir, I pause. This is the one Sitri added to his blade. I think that look was because…it can get me out of here. I’m sure of it even before I scrawl the name in the grimoire. The grimoire only validates my beliefs. Shamiris capable of penetrating through many different kinds of magical barriers.I look at the door.
Where would I even go?
No, things have changed now. There are no noughts. No place for me to start anew…and Sitri, I trust him. I dust the vial of Shamir off and place it back on the shelf. I’m not going anywhere….however it is nice to have the option…
A tapping at the door alerts me to Div’s return. Sitri had left a small space in the barrier so he could come and go from the balcony as he pleased. Div demands I leave the door open and makes his way in and out, carrying a bundle of stones each time. “What are you doing with those?”
He doesn’t respond. However it doesn’t take me long to discover as I trip over a pile of them blocking the bathroom.
“Div! I’m trying to clean, and you’re leaving rocks everywhere!”
“I need them!”
“For what?”
“They remind me of home.”
“You’re not putting your goddamn rocks all over.” I pick them all back up and carry them to the balcony. As quick as I can gather them, he litters them around the chambers again, and I eventually give up.
The ingredient shelf takes me the entire day and half the night. I finally crawl into bed to find another pile of rocks under the blankets. I scoot them to the floor with a growl. I sink into the mattress and squirm my feet, sucking in a deep breath, weary from my work yet satisfied. I don’t know how I’ll occupy myself tomorrow.
I sleep late. The rolling sound of thunder shakes the chambers every few minutes. With nothing else to work on, I can’t coax myself to get out of bed. I lie there for a long time, staring at the ceiling. The daemon is even more unruly today. I’m still in bed late in the morning when the unmistakable sound of footsteps taps up the hallway. I jolt upright. My breakfast plate has already been brought up today and it’s much too early for lunch. Is Sitri back already? The sound doesn’t match Sitri’s heavy footfalls.
I remain rigid as the footsteps sound closer. They stop, and three sharp raps punch the door. My heart pounds erratically in my chest. No one ever comes here. The only person that’s ever knocked on the door is…Morin.
