Tano’s only sanatorium was perfumed with herb bouquets to mask the chemical sterility of the place. It didn’t work. It still smelled like one would expect. It just seemed like a sanatorium that wished it could be a kitchen.
Poesie couldn’t blame the staff here, she supposed. A kitchen is a better place for making memories.
She sat in the waiting room with her parents on either side of her. All three of them sat with their hands in their laps. None of them spoke. She also couldn’t help but notice an Exorcist periodically patrolling the halls. Sanatoriums were required to have Exorcists on duty in the event a patient died and tried to Possess an innocent within the building. A sanatorium could be as likely a place for Possession as a warzone. She was comforted by the knight’s occasional presence, as cold as that comfort was.
Not being family, Poesie wasn’t going to learn the news about Naya’s condition from a doctor. She knew her friend was alive, but that was all she knew. If she was going to get the news at all, it would likely have to come from Naya’s parents. They had already passed through without looking at her. She was just as afraid of them behaving as though she didn’t exist as she was of them choosing to face her.
Her head was down, so Poesie didn’t know the Caprio’s were in the lobby until her parents laid a hand on either of hers. She met Naya’s father’s eyes and found them unreadable.
Romus and Fidelia Caprio were slight and blonde just like their daughter—or rather, Naya was slight and blonde like them. Ordinarily they were easy going people. Not fighters at all, like the Fiocca’s. On a normal day it would seem like a slight breeze would be enough to blow any member of that family away.
Now, Romus levelled at her the heaviest of stares. It seemed for some time that staring at her was all he would do. Fidelia was red faced, which had Poesie fearing the worst.
Eventually the couple joined the Fiocca’s in the seating area, sitting across from them. Those eyes felt heavier and heavier on Poesie the closer they came, especially when they sat down. Romus' eyes felt especially unsettling. She could tell he wasn’t going to sit with them long.
The Fiocca’s collectively decided to let the Caprio’s speak first.
“She is going to live.” At first, this was all Romus said. Poesie and her parents released a sigh of relief, Sharla touching her free hand to her sternum.
“She is going to live.” Romus said as though he were correcting someone. Fidelia sobbed sharply. “Her bones are set, and the Mender’s managed to accelerate her recovery pretty far ahead. She’ll need some physical therapy to be nimble again, but ultimately the damage you did should be inconsequential.”
The emphasis on ‘you’ hung heavily in the air. Poesie let it go. “What other kind of damage is there?”
Romus looked at Poesie as though she seemed half as smart as he thought she was. It was hard to see. She was used to him looking at her very much the same way Dom always did. “Psychological, Poesie.”
Poesie took the hand her father was holding and held it up to her mouth. Guilt welled up in her like bubbling bile. The powers of a Mender were limited to accelerating the body's natural healing process. There wasn’t anything that Blessing could do for a person's mind.
Her tears started trickling out before Romus was even finished speaking. Poesie reclaimed both of her hands, thrust her face between her knees and clutched at big handfuls of her hair, trying to distract herself from the pain in her heart with a different, physical pain in her scalp.
The four adults allowed Poesie to weep openly for some time. When she looked back up and tried to suck a big glob of mucus back through her nasal cavity, Romus and Fidelia were still with them. Romus handed her a handkerchief and she accepted it with an oddly steady hand and wiped off her face.
“Poesie,” Romus began, “my paternal instincts are telling me to banish you from my daughter’s life, but I think we all know that’s really impossible to do. You girls are too willful to listen to that kind of thing.”
Poesie wasn’t sure how to respond to that statement, so she didn’t. She did notice however, that some new feeling sprouted in her chest at the sound of her name. She wasn’t sure what the feeling was, nor was she quite sure yet what she would do if she felt it again.
“She’s asleep now.” This time Fidelia spoke, and she did so in a whisper. She sounded hoarse from crying. Poesie suspected she and Fidelia would sound much the same by the end of the day. “Earlier though, she said she would like to see you, Poesie.” There, that feeling again, worming into her chest. “She told us that being with you makes her feel safe. The doctor said if there is one thing to help with her condition, it is someone like that.”
“Then I’ll stay with her as long as she needs,” Poesie promised, “even if it’s the rest of our lives, I will.”
Fidelia mouthed a ‘thank you’ and Romus nodded to Poesie with eyes closed. “The doctor said you can join her when you’re ready.” Romus placed his hands on his knees and grunted into a standing position. “On that note, we’ll be going home to rest. We’ll see you again this evening, Poesie, as I suspect you’ll still be here then.” With that, the Caprio’s collected themselves, told Poesie Naya’s room number, and left the sanatorium. They nodded to both Sharla and Domenico on their way out.
Poesie could feel her parents' eyes boring into her on either side. They expected her to go run to Naya’s room. She stayed where she was.
“Dear heart,” Dom said, “why aren’t you going to see Naya?”
Fresh tears poured warm over her cheeks, then dripped cold down her chin and into her lap. “I failed her papa. I tried to save her and I broke her instead.”
Sharla laid a hand on Poesie’s shoulder. She might have been receptive to the motherly warmth, but then her mother said, “Poesie…”
Poesie’s shoulder flinched from her mother’s fingertips as though they burned. Sharla snatched her hand away and huffed. Without saying anything more, Sharla rushed out outside. The door was already shut before Poesie had time to say, “mama!”
Neither of them went after her. After the air cleared, Domenico held his daughter's hand in his again. “She’ll be fine, don’t worry.”
“I’m not upset with her,” Poesie whispered, “I’m just starting to feel weird. She wasn’t helping.”
Dom frowned. “All she did was say your name.”
“Well papa, I don’t think I really like my name anymore.” Poesie leaned back in her seat and a post-sob shiver ran up through her chest. “It’s like an old coat that doesn’t really fit anymore, you know?”
Dom considered this for a moment, then nodded. He squeezed her hand. She squeezed back.
“I’m very proud of you, dear heart.”
Poesie sniffed, then dabbed her nose with Mr. Caprio’s handkerchief again. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.” She was really only saying that because it did, but only a little bit.
Dom’s tone stiffened with paternal ardour. “That’s not in my repertoire, and you shouldn’t need me to tell you that. You did save Naya’s life.”
“I should have done better. I could have done this better. I know it.”
“And the fact that you’re saying that means everything. Most people in your position would have given up and killed the Vold right away, given how frightening such a scene is. You took the chance, and it paid off. I am proud of you. You should be proud of yourself.
Dom squeezed her hand again. “You should go see Naya now, dear heart.” He stood up and went to the exit. Her hand suddenly felt very cold without his. Before leaving, he turned to her one last time. “One more thing.”
Poesie looked up at her father.
“Call yourself what you like,” he said, “but if I have my way, everyone will call you ‘officer.’”
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Poesie knew her father wanted her eyes to light up to hear him say that, and she wanted them to. When she felt something else happening within her, she simulated that warmth, let another tear trickle down, and showed him a counterfeit smile of sheer pride.
“I won’t disappoint, papa.”
“I know you won’t.” With that, Dom followed after his wife, shutting the door behind him. It felt as though ‘Poesie’ went out the door with him.
Vella stood up, then went to see her friend.
Naya was still asleep when Vella went inside. She was careful to slip in silently. She settled down in the chair next to the bed and forced herself to examine her handiwork.
The blonde girl had a total of three casts: one covering the space between her thigh and her calf on her left leg, one small cast covering one wrist, and another larger cast on her other arm going from wrist to elbow. A blanket was covering her up to her waist, so she could only see the impression of the leg cast. Vella felt more warm tears spill down her cheeks.
She dabbed herself with the handkerchief, then found herself surprised she still had it.
Vella settled down in the chair next to Naya’s bed. Naya was breathing with her mouth slightly open in her sleep. Vella closed it gently. She looked at Naya’s sleeping face for some time before she pulled her notebook out.
She couldn't say how long she had been staring at the blank page before Naya woke up. Vella didn’t even notice exactly when her friend woke. She happened to look her way and found Naya staring blankly in her direction. It felt like looking into an empty glass.
“Hey, you,” Vella said in a whisper, “how are you feeling?”
Naya didn’t answer at once. It was eerie, she didn’t even seem to be moving, except for the subtle rise and fall of her breathing. “Honestly, I don’t.”
Vella furrowed her brow, “you don’t what?”
“Feel,” she said flatly.
Oh.
“I guess I feel empty,” Naya elaborated, “and when I start to feel again, I expect I’ll feel anxious. I’ve read about that happening to victims like me. Sometimes the bond between emotion and expression are severed. It usually results in hysteria at some point.”
“You seem awfully calm about it.”
“Don’t I though?” Naya managed to force an imitation smirk.
Of course, that’s what she just said. Great Gallant, I’m stupid.
“There’s no telling when it might happen,” Naya went on, “I might, say, collapse into tears at the market or something. I might scream and flail spontaneously while a nurse is helping me to the toilet. I might jolt awake from a nightmare two hours from now. I simply can’t predict what I’ll do for the foreseeable future.”
Vella reached down and put one hand on Naya’s unbroken knee. “I’m going to stay by your side until you’re fully recovered. I promise.”
Naya made a show of furrowing her brow, since she couldn’t do it from an emotional impulse. “But you want to be a paladin. There isn’t any telling how long I’m going to be like this. You can’t just put your future on hold for me. Paladinship doesn’t just happen overnight.”
“Paladins defend the victims of revenants and Shades, dear heart,” Vella wasn’t sure if she sounded like her father now, but she hoped she did. “If I don’t support you for as long as you need me, then how much of a paladin can I even be?”
Naya engineered one of her typical cute smiles. “You would say that.”
They stayed that way for some time in companionable silence.
“Since you’re going to help me for as long as I need you,” Naya said eventually, “maybe there’s something I can do for you now.”
“Like what?” Vella asked, if only to humor her friend.
“You can tell me what’s wrong.”
Vella paused longer than she should have. “What do you mean?”
“You’re upset. I can tell. Just tell me what’s wrong.”
This was a surreal experience. Ordinarily Naya was so expressive she didn’t need to tell anyone when she was concerned about anything. For Naya to ask her if anything was wrong was tantamount to alien language, and that said nothing of the emotional hollowness of her current tone.
“Should you really be the one comforting me?”
“Apparently,” Naya shrugged.
After taking a moment to reflect, Vella thought of the revenant. She thought of It’s furious eyes, of the boiling hate in them. She thought of It’s flaming blade.
“When I was fighting the Vold,” Vella said, beginning her confession, “I saw something that frightened me.”
“There was a lot to be frightened of.”
“Well, it wasn’t what you think.”
“You sure?” Naya simulated doubt in her tone, “it wasn’t the flaming sword?”
“It wasn’t.”
“It wasn’t the fact that I might have died?”
“Not just that.”
“What then? What did you see?”
Vella sighed. “Myself. I saw myself.”
This time Naya was silent.
“When Francesca told me she wasn’t gay, that she only intended to use me to anger her father, I was furious.”
“Anyone would be.”
“I wanted to hit her.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Well, what’s actually wrong with you then?”
Vella took a deep breath. “I liked it," she said, and in admitting so she felt lighter, the way one does after losing weight to sickness.
Naya allowed for a short pause of recognition. “Oh, I see now.”
“I’ve always believed my passions were pure and righteous, and this would protect me from ever becoming a Shade.”
“Well,” Naya said, “they do teach us that.”
“But when I was fighting the Vold, and I looked into his eyes, I saw that same righteous anger. He was just like me. So…”
“You’re not the same as that thing.”
“But I could be.”
“No. Your anger is not your most potent element, Poesie. You’re too virtuous to become a Shade. Trust me.”
Vella felt a slight impulse to correct Naya about her name, but it didn’t seem like the time. She didn’t feel as though her friend was right either, but if she disagreed then she might instigate Naya’s first hysterical episode. She didn’t want to bring that on.
“It’s lovely that you believe in me, dear heart.”
“Of course, it is. Isn’t it lovely for anyone to believe in you?”
“I suppose so,” Vella said, squeezing Naya’s good knee.
Naya’s eyes started to drift shut, then open again. The second time it seemed for a moment like they were going to stay closed.
“You look like you need sleep.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” Naya gestured toward the empty notebook with her chin. “Fill that thing up for me, will you? I want to have something to read when I can use my arms again.”
Vella smiled, sat back, and took the notebook and pen back up. “I’ll get started now.”
“Great,” Naya whispered, and this time when she shut her eyes, they stayed closed.
When Naya’s breathing settled into an even rhythm, Vella felt nearly like she was alone. There was no sound intruding on the room apart from the occasional chirp of sparrows.
She thought of Francesca, of the false promise of love the girl had shown her with those black eyes of hers. She thought of the sexlessness in the girl’s touches that she should have noticed.
Maybe she’d been ignoring it. She wasn’t really sure.
Vella started scratching the first thing she could think of into the notebook, muttering to herself as she wrote.
“Fraudulence is a vacuum for love,” she said to herself, “I will plunge my hands into the recesses of your hollow heart, and I will force-feed you the human elements you are missing.”
Vella paused to consider the line. She chewed softly on the butt end of the pen.
Stupid, she thought, and she pressed black slashes through each line of verse. She leaned back and looked up, as though the subject she was supposed to cover was carved in the ceiling for her.
Then she thought of the Vold.
Maybe Francesca wasn’t really important right now.
Vella readjusted herself and started writing again. She thought of the look in the thing’s eyes. She thought of the sparks and smoke spilling out of It's chest as It drew that blazing, perversion of a schiavona.
“The hemorrhage of a shrunken heart is as ash and blazes…”
She considered the line. It wasn’t perfect she supposed, but it felt true. That would be good enough to start. She kept writing until she felt that the Vold was out of her system, then she turned the page and started something else. The second piece wasn’t about Francesca either.
Vella didn’t leave Naya’s side that day or that night, and nor did she sleep.
The End