Now stand.
I don’t think I even remember how. I stare at my blood-drenched, quivering hands held out in front of me, and the wrongness of it all wells, threatening to shatter me completely.
Stand, he demands again.
My knees wobble as I force myself up, but then his hand is there, holding me upright and pulling me to face him. The lights are too bright, and the scattered sounds of chairs scraping the floor, coughs, and the shuffling of bodies are somehow too loud. His hands are suddenly on my face, forcing me to look at him, his expression full of murderous concern.
I’m still fumbling in my shell shocked state. A part of me is surprised he would be so openly comforting for everyone to see. His hands are guiding me higher, tugging me to my tip toes as he hunches over me. Face moving steadily closer. I don’t understand, can’t make sense of it.
My lips part in a silent inhale as he presses his mouth over mine.
I hear my sharp intake of breath echoing all around the room. Gasps of shock and derision. I start to shift back. His grip tightens, forcing me to stay put. My bloody hands fall limp to his chest. He drinks me, coaxing my mouth to open. He swaths me in his warmth, and bathes himself in gore. Even the daemon quiets with the shock of it. I can’t taste him, only the dark tang iron of blood. My body turns liquid, but he keeps me there firmly within his grasp.
He pulls back, mouth smudged in red and eyes blazing an icy wrath. But it’s not me he’s looking at.
I follow his gaze out to Morin’s equally penetrating stare and across the room to all the other faces twisted in disgust. Not because I had eaten a man’s heart.
Because Sitri had kissed me.
A nought.
Fiery shame envelops me, beating at me from the top of my scalp to the tips of my toes. I’m only vaguely aware of Sitri taking a bloody hand into his own and tugging me down the steps and across the room.
Down the endless halls, up the stairs, and we’re finally at the door of his chambers, and the panic I’ve been barely keeping at bay flares up in me, all-consuming. I choke on a sob, and he pushes me inside and steadies me against the wall. I swipe frantically at my face with another crazed sob. “Stop, pet. It’s gone,” he assures me.
And he’s right. There’s nothing. My hands come back clean as I continue vigorously wiping at my cheeks and mouth.
It's as if it had never happened at all. This should be a relief. It only further unravels the last of my clinging sanity.
“It’s okay. It’s over now.” His hand comes up to claim the wall behind me, the other reaching forward to cup my face and brush back tears like we’re familiar, like we’re in this together now we’re here in the privacy of his chambers.
Everything is too sharp, pulsing, dire, the daemon crashing over me like a high tide. I don’t want him touching me. I don’t want him to feel it. I shove at his hands and move past him, ignoring the pained look on his face to flee to the bathroom. He clamps a hand around my shoulder.
“Wait, talk to me. I want to make sure you’re…okay.”
I’m not okay.“Now you want to talk?” His face crumples as he shakes his head. He opens his mouth to speak. “You,” I say, cutting him off, my chest heaving as I stare up into a face contorted into such genuine concern.
I have no idea which face is real. No idea which one is the mask and which one is the truth. The one he wears in here with me or the one out there that refuses to meet my eye but will kiss my bloody mouth to piss off a room full of people, to say fuck you to the one that stuck me with him in the first place. He’ll protect me...as long as it doesn’t put him in the line of fire. “You said you would protect me. N-nothing unsavory.I did as you--asked.” My voice cracks.
His eyes fracture.
I wrench myself from his grip, tearing at my dress as I barricade myself in the bathroom. I let the bloodied and now magically clean dress fall to the floor, and I crumple, gagging and heaving every last drop of blood left in me. Violent heaves that leave me sweating and utterly spent. I twist the faucet, running the water as hot as it will go, scald my skin as if it will remove the horrors of the night with its heat, scrubbing until it’s red and aching, and I still don’t feel clean.
I thought I was coming to a place of monsters. Instead, they made a monster out of me.
It takes some coaxingto get my crusted eyes to open. Light sears into my pinned pupils, too bright. The room spins and my head pounds an aching heartbeat. Everything feelswrong. My midday lunch is already on the floor. Looks like it’s been sitting there for a while. The sight makes my stomach roil. No sounds emit from the room. No sign of Div. By the time I came out of the bathroom last night, Sitri had vanished and hadn’t come back from the looks of it.
My stomach heaves, and I stagger to the bathroom, bumping into the door frame on the way. I throw my weight back against the door to heave it shut behind me.
I collapse, cradling the waste basin in my hands as I retch. When I open my eyes, I find it splattered with blood. There shouldn’t be any left in me yet it’s there clear as day, swirling into the water like mixed paint. I flush it away, head pounding too viciously to give it any more thought. The floor is cold and comforting under the press of my face.
I quit counting at seven and vaguely wonder if I’m hallucinating this—maybe the events of last night were too much for my mind. Or maybe this is my punishment for what I’ve done. Eating the heart of a man, revoking my own God, removing the Shroud. I curl up into a ball, and time passes, fast and slow—it’s impossible to tell.
I’m stirred awake by soft mutters, fingers probing my forehead. I try to concentrate on the words being spoken, but I’m underwater. The world tilts to the side, and the sharpening pain in my abdomen brings the world back to me. I recognize him only by scent. Sitri. My stomach twists, and I groan out complaints. It’s too late. I tilt my head to the side, and blood splatters the dark wood.
We go still, and Sitri swears something unintelligible before we’re moving again. He settles me against the bed, and I strain my eyes open into thin slits to see his back disappearing.
I should say something. I’m too heavy. Only partly aware of a wet cloth brushing over my face and my mouth. He grips my shoulders and forces me into an incline. It’s too bright. I squint until his face comes into focus. He pushes a vial to my lips. “I need you to drink this.”
