Alone in her bedroom, Lala closed her eyes, trying to block out the pain that throbbed through her body. She could hear the distant sounds of the city outside, the muffled hum of life carrying on beyond the confines of the apartment. The scent of her medicine lingered in the air, mixing with the faint fragrance of flowers Toumas had placed on the bedside table.
Hours passed, and Lala drifted in and out of consciousness, her mind foggy from the effects of the antibiotics she was on. When she finally awoke, it was to the sound of the front door opening and closing. Toumas had returned, a briefcase in hand.
"I brought the materials," he announced, setting the briefcase on the table beside the bed. Lala mustered a weak smile, grateful for his dedication to helping her.
As Toumas prepared the test drugs, Lala's heart raced with a mix of anticipation and fear. She knew that what he was about to do could either be the key to her salvation or make her suffer unnecessary pain. But she trusted him, trusted that he would do everything in his power to help her.
With a deep breath, Lala closed her eyes as Toumas injected the first dose of the trial vaccine. The sensation was like fire coursing through her veins, causing her to double over in pain. She fought against the urge to cry out, clenching her fists as she rode out the wave of agony.
When the worst of it had passed, Lala opened her eyes to find Toumas studying her closely. "This is a bad idea, we should stop," he said, concern etched in his features.
“Why art thou developing such vaccination?”
“Lala, we must stop.”
“Answer to this one!” she yelled before gasping for air.
“Current vaccines are inefficient. Vaccines are manufactured by growing live vaccinia virus in the skin of live cattle. It’s not possible to preserve the vaccinia virus for long periods without refrigeration. Fortunately, I’m close to the hospital, but all these samples will be expired by tomorrow. Up to 20% of children receiving the current vaccines for the first time develop fevers of over 102 °F, and many people would even die as a side effect.”
“You can really tell what’s at stake, right?” Lala shook her head, determination shining in her eyes. "This one wants to continue," she insisted, her voice barely above a whisper.
As Toumas took blood samples and monitored her vitals, Lala spoke, her voice steady despite the pain still lingering in her body. "This one’s body is different from others," she began, her words measured. "What harms normal humans can sometimes benefit this one. For how this one can use the tobacco plant or even poison ivy to regain energy, even though this one despises it. And in times of serious injury, this one can use arsenic to heal within minutes."
Toumas listened intently, his brow furrowed in thought as he processed her words. "You're unique," he murmured, a mix of awe and concern in his voice.
Lala nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "This one has decided to go through with this treatment," she said, her gaze meeting his with unwavering resolve.
Lala lay on the bed, her body was a canvas of scars and bruises, a testament to the countless injuries she had endured over the centuries. She winced as she shifted, the pain a constant companion that never truly left her side.
“Why do you have so many scars?”
"Pray, art thou intrigued?" Lala's eyes shifted color, from azure to sepia, then to crimson. "This one’s body has endured the sting of steel, the bite of blades, the venom of poisons, the ravages of mutilation, and a myriad of trials and torture beyond. This one’s body has been ensnared by the Inquisition's grasp, subjected to all kinds of torment. Yet, my captors have either met their own demise or succumbed to madness. In time, this one’s body has grown impervious, and pain has become but a mere whisper upon the flesh."
Toumas stood beside her, his brow furrowed in concern as he listened to her recount the horrors of her past. The weight of her words hung heavy in the room, a palpable tension that seemed to suffocate the air.
Stolen story; please report.
“You would have died if they had not found you in the parking area around the hospital,” Toumas interjected, his voice soft but filled with a sense of urgency.
Lala shook her head slowly, her gaze distant as she recalled the years of suffering, she had endured. “Nay,” she murmured, her voice tinged with sorrow. “This one’s body has even withstood decapitation twice. 'Tis a discomfort most profound, for I would slip into unconsciousness for years upon the first occasion, and months upon the second. I would have been condemned to a temporal life of darkness, trapped in a body that refused to die, until eventually this one would have awakened.”
“That is,” Toumas interrupted, however, he wasn’t able to continue his line of thought. No words were able to tell what he was thinking at that moment.
“The Inquisition, the Napoleonic army, and the Prussian Army,” she began, her tone laced with pain. “They treated this one like a lab rat, subjected this one to endless experiments with poisons and viruses, all in the name of science.”
Toumas listened, his expression a mix of disbelief and horror as he scribbled notes furiously.
“Let’s talk about more jubilant things,” Lala said, her eyes searching his. “Dost thou have offspring, art thou wedded?"
“I was… wedded,”
As the conversation turned to lighter topics, Lala’s voice softened as she asked Toumas about his family. Toumas hesitated for a moment before responding.
“I'm divorced. I also have a daughter who lives with her mother in the US,” he revealed, a hint of longing in his tone. The mention of his daughter brought a flicker of warmth to his eyes, a glimpse of the man beneath the scientist facade.
“Thou take care of this one because this one reminds thee of her?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I guess so,” he admitted, nodding. “You certainly remind me of her.”
"Perchance thou find thyself enamored by this dear Lala?" she teased, her eyes changing from blue to green.
Toumas ignored her jest, choosing instead to focus on his notes and the task at hand. He moved to another desk, his movements purposeful and methodical as he transcribed some of the results of his experiment into his notebook.
"Pray, do thou consider thyself a devotee, a lover, of this one? What say thou?"
“You see Lala, I’m really not into children. It’s also illegal, by the way, and I’m certainly against it,” he frowned.
“But this one is older than thee.”
“Don’t even joke about it.”
“This one shall reflect on it.”
“So, you were born in Babylon, right?” he asked, changing the topic completely.
“During the reign of King Nimrod, this one’s father.”
“Nimrod?”
"Verily, 'twas an experiment wrought by an alchemist in service of this one’s fath’r. Fath’r, driven mad by the pursuit of eternal life, proffered many a gem to any soul who could bestow upon him immortality. 'Twas then that a hermit, known as the Sage of the Mountains, appeared. This sage bore a mystic ritual that promised everlasting life to this one’s fath’r, though 'twas yet incomplete."
Toumas opened his eyes wide in surprise, however, he kept jotting down in his notebook.
"In his madness, this one’s fath’r decreed the erection of the Tower of Babel, whilst the alchemist toiled within the palace, weaving his spells. A juncture arrived wherein the ritual was poised to unfold, yet this one’s fath’r harbored mistrust towards the hermit. He, in his folly, could not bring himself to surrender to the ritual. Thus, this one’s fath’r deemed it fitting to offer up a sacrifice instead, and in so doing, this one was made into the first Tyme Gazer, the first Schwarzschild."
“Schwarzschild?” Toumas asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes wide with a mixture of fascination and trepidation.
Lala nodded, her expression grave. “That is what this one’s kind is known as nowadays. A term derived from a scientist's name, who delved into the mysteries of Tyme and Space. The last of the Schwarzschilds, a group of fifty, adopted the name as a symbol of their connection to what this scientist had discovered, as this one’s kind is but a wandering singularity. In German, Schwarz means black, and Child is Child. This one’s kind, the Schwarzschilds, were the children of darkness.”
Toumas leaned in, his curiosity piqued. “Why were you chosen for the ritual? Why not a slave or a servant? Why Nimrod’s own daughter?” he asked, his brow furrowed in thought.
Lala's gaze held a haunted look as she spoke. “This one was the sole dispensable daughter in the lineage, this one's mother had long died, and this one's sisters were betrothed. This one was the forsaken and overlooked progeny amidst the partiality of this one’s fath’r toward my broth’rs. Following the ritual's enactment, the initial cosmic distortion became obvious, birthing a multitude of tongues upon the Earth. That’s the origin of the many languages spoken on Earth.”
“The languages?”
Lala nodded. “Confusion of all languages, a fitting legacy for one such as this one.”
Lala's eyes flickered with a hint of resignation as she nodded, the color of her eyes changing again to violet. “The consequences of that ritual echo through the ages, a burden this one always carries,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
Toumas stared at her, his gaze filled with understanding and compassion. “You carry a heavy burden, Lala,” he murmured, his voice a soothing balm. “I don’t know how, but let me help you.”
Lala met his gaze, a flicker of gratitude in her eyes. “This one has endured much, but this one has also learned much.”