After another eleven trips, she had enough worms to finish filling the planter beds. By the time she was finished, she could barely stand. It was late in the day as she stumbled back to her room. She collapsed onto the bed ignoring the note on her bedside stand; The list of chores. Eventually, she reached over and slid the note toward her with her fingertips to see what work awaited her the next few days.

The handwriting was shaky. She doubted how well he could see when he wrote it. There were nearly a dozen simple bullet points outlining tasks. The chores would take her days. Under the list was a simple message, “I’m sorry for being short with you, Miss Cora.”

A small humorous smile broke through her exhaustion. ‘Which time?’ She had to wonder.

Nonetheless, the apology was nice. She had to wonder what prompted it. She wasn’t sure where he’d been created or how long ago, but it was clear he didn’t interact with people outside his Fae masters very often. No one had really raised him. He wasn’t like he’d been born. He didn’t have a mother. He was created just as he was now. It surprised her that true apologies would even occur to him. But then again…

She sat up, looking at the scribbled handwriting on the note.

He wasn’t a human who would have been taught manners. He was a Faedemon, a slave. He may not have learned manners but he sure as hells would have learned to apologize. He would have learned that lesson swiftly and likely severely. He may not have been raised to apologize to be polite, but it had surely been burned into him.

She ran her fingertips over the unstable letters. Burned into him.

Her heart pounded. There was a reason a magic user even as powerful as him couldn’t heal his burns. Because something much stronger made them.

He had made a mistake. That’s what he told her. She had assumed a spell backfired. No, the burns didn’t come from the mistake, they were a punishment for making it.

She tossed the note aside, marching out of her room with purpose. She didn’t care if he was a Faedemon, no one deserved this for a mistake.

She made her way to the kitchen, grabbing a passably clean bowl, polishing it with the inside of her tunic as she headed for the garden.

She swiftly moved between the planter beds, plucking leaves and flower buds, grabbing branches off the small Mistwood tree, stripping off the bark with her teeth and carefully spitting out the refuge before tossing the soft, sap filled innerwood into the bowl. She juiced two Merbud pods from the illuminated growing pool in the far corner. She collected Deep Kelp from the darker water in the pool next to it, draping it over the edge of the bowl and ignoring the freezing burn of its touch.

After pulling a long thorn from the Harpyclaw cactus, she ripped the peeling flesh from the Ribbonbark tree, tucking the needle and long, parchment thin strands into the pockets of her pants.

She then moved to the beast room, heading straight for the pond. She had no idea what that snail was or why it helped, but she knew she needed them as she buried her arms elbow deep into the gooey sand, ripping her hands back with two handfuls of iridescent snails. She crammed them into her remaining free pocket, unbothered by the slimy wetness soaking her thigh.

She made a beeline for the kitchen once more, grabbing a pestle forcefully grinding down her herbal ingredients into a thick paste on the little bit of bare counter she could find. The Deep Kelp that she had slung over her shoulder in the interim, chilled her through her tunic. She grabbed another bowl, dumping her snail filled pocket into the empty bowl. She apologized to the squirming snails as she crushed them down as well.

She gathered the two bowls as she advanced down Zaramir’s hallway, to the large spiral staircase at the end.

“What are you doing here, Miss Cora?” His voice echoed around her as her first foot landed on the stairs.

“I’m here to help.” She announced, moving up the stairs.

“Help?” Disbelief or condensation, it was hard to tell what the tone was as she made her way up.

“You heard me.” She replied, forgetting how exhausted her legs were until the stairs made them cramp painfully.

“I don’t want your help.” He said shortly.

“Well that’s too bad, cause you’re getting it.” She huffed, reaching the massive door at the top of the stairs.

“Go away! You are not permitted in my lab!” His voice reverberated loudly.

“Well then you better come out here then.”

After a moment, the door cracked open, half his face visible. His right eye scowled at her, before glancing at the bowls, “What in the Fae is in your hands right now?”

“Well not a gods’ forsaken clue what those snails were, but… well you probably don’t care to know what’s in this one.” She held up the bowl of green goo.

“Herbs. And you have these, why?” He asked dryly.

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“I don’t know what magic caused that burn and I know I can't heal it. But I know I can at least make it stop hurting, so are you coming out or am I coming in?”

He huffed, “You need to go.”

“You need help.” She said firmly.

“I do not need help. It will heal.” He went to close the door on her, but she jammed her foot in before he could.

“That might be true,” She groaned, the jolt of the slam making her tired feet radiate pins and needles. “But I know it has to hurt and I can help.”

“Move your foot.” He growled.

“No. Either you let me help you out here, or I'm coming in there. Your choice.”

He glared daggers at her with one visible eye, “Move. Your. Foot.”

“If you want to close the door on me, I guess you’ll just have to break my foot.” She bluffed.

He let out a low growl before the door shot open, she flinched half expecting it to come back hard, shattering her foot. But it didn’t instead, he pushed her out of the way as he stepped out and slammed the door behind him, “Fine. You may try whatever it is you want to try. It will fail and when it does, you’ll leave me alone. No more ‘help’.” A flimsy silk bandana shrouded the burned side of his face and there was something about his posture. It was forced, not poised like usual. He was clearly exhausted and in pain.

She kept her words truthful but her mind blank knowing if he read her true plan, he’d never agree, “I’ll just try this one thing and if it doesn’t help, I’ll leave you alone.”

He nodded curtly, “Go ahead.”

“Not here. I think it would be easier somewhere you could lay down.”

He huffed, “Fae, you are demanding! My quarters. Come on.” He headed down the stairs with a certain awkward stumble with each step, as if he had a hard time navigating the stairs. Possibly that he couldn’t see depth with one shrouded eye, more probably that every step hurt.

He led her to a door in his hallway which opened up into a bedroom that looked like it had never been touched. The nightstands and desk were covered with an undisturbed layer of dust, old cobwebs strung the bed’s canopy. The room smelled musty and stale, like old books. It was as if he never so much as came in here, it made her wonder if he actually slept.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, stiffly a cloud of dust puffing up around him “Is this good enough?” He drawled.

She cringed at the dust, “It’ll work.. It would be better if it was cleaner.”

“Oh for Fae’s sake!” He waved an annoyed hand and the dust all vanished. At the same moment the dust cleared he groaned, doubling over his knees, hands clutching his head, grumbling curses under his breath.

“Hey… Are you alright?” She asked softly, crossing over to his bedside.

“I’m fine.” He hissed as he sat upright. “Let’s just get this over with.”

She clenched her jaw, refraining from asking. He clearly didn’t want to talk about it, “Alright, I want you to eat this.” She handed him the bowl of herbs.

“This?” he questioned condescendingly looking down at the green goop. “You think this is going to fix things.”

“You agreed to let me try, so--” She shoved it into his hands. “Eat it.”

He sighed with annoyance, “I did agree to this.” he mumbled as he rolled his eyes, scooping up a few fingerfulls of the goo. “It won’t do anything, I hope you know. These little tricks may work for humans, but…” He shook his head, accepting his fate and shoveling the sludge into his mouth.

He immediately turned green, slapping a hand over his mouth, clearly about to get sick. After a moment of fighting it, he managed to get it down.

He looked at her, nauseated, “What… the hells was…” He couldn’t even finish the sentence before passing out backwards onto the bed.

Good. The Mistwood worked. She knew it was a gamble, but now she could work without him feeling a thing.

She slung his legs onto the bed, turning his body so she would be able to easily work on the burns. Turning his head to the side, she gently untied the bandana, peeling it carefully away from the oozing wounds, which began seeping blood the second the bandage was removed.

She began dabbing at the blood with the Deep Kelp that was slung over her shoulder. The coolness seemed to help slow the oozing and alleviated the swelling. From there she could see that it wasn’t one large burn but a series of five small, but deep and uneven seared holes almost like his skin had been gouged out by burning fingertips. Through one of the deeper ones, she could see the edge of his cheekbone.

Her stomach turned. She couldn’t believe someone would do this.

She pulled up a chair to sit on while she worked and took the strands of Ribbonbark out of her pocket along with the thin, curved thorn. She scooped up a bit of the snail goo, applying it to the wounds which stopped bleeding all together. She then grabbed some of her herbal mix and applied it to the thorn. Not that he would wake up if the Mistwood knocked him out, but she didn’t know how much it would hurt when he did wake up, so the Merbud and Mistwood combined would at least keep it numb for a few days. The other herbs would help prevent it from festering.

She took a deep breath. He would be angry that she’d drugged him when he woke up. She just hoped he was at least thankful enough that it would keep him from tossing her back out into the maze… or worse.

She affixed the thin Ribbonbark to the thorn and began carefully stitching him up. Every so often dabbing the wound she was working on with the Deep Kelp to alleviate the swelling, before getting back to work. It was exceptionally difficult. The mangled skin tore as she attempted each stitch, causing her to have to start over frequently. The work took her all night. Every time she started to nod off, she would shake herself awake and remind herself that she had to finish this before he woke up.

By the time she was done, he looked miles better. The wounds were carefully stitched and, while they’d certainly leave scars, they were no longer open raw skin that was surely agonizing. The swelling of his eye even went down as she worked, she expected he’d even be able to see out of it by the time he awoke. She used the remaining Ribbonbark to stitch together the kelp into a wearable bandage, carefully sliding it over the stitched wounds on the side of his face. The bruising remained but the cool kelp would help it heal faster and help ease soreness.

She slumped back in her chair as the first purples and pinks of dawn began to shine through the window. She knew she should get up and leave him be to avoid the immediate anger when he awoke, but exhaustion overtook her and she drifted to sleep, makeshift needle still in hand.