Later that evening, the door creaked open, and a figure entered the room, casting a pool of light that shattered the shadows. Lala's gaze fell upon a new doctor, his brown hair catching the light in a halo around his head. In his hands, he carried a box, the contents hidden from view.

The doctor's presence brought a sense of anticipation to the room, a spark of curiosity igniting within Lala's chest. She watched as he approached, his footsteps echoing softly against the tiled floor. With each step, the air seemed to crackle with energy.

Drawing closer, the doctor's gaze met Lala's, his eyes holding a depth of knowledge that sent a shiver down her spine.

“Could you give us a moment?” The doctor asked the nurse who nodded at him.

“See you later,” the nurse waved at Lala before stepping out of the room.

Without a word, the man set the box down on the bedside table, the weight of it palpable in the silence that hung between them. As he opened the box, a glint of metal caught Lala's eye, the sharp edges of instruments gleaming in the light. Fear clawed at her chest, threatening to overwhelm her fragile composure. But beneath the fear, there was a flicker of defiance, a stubborn resolve that refused to be extinguished.

The doctor's hands moved with precision, his movements deliberate and calculated. With each tool he withdrew from the box, the tension in the room grew, a sense of urgency building in her mind. Lala's heart raced in her chest, the sound of it thundering in her ears.

And then, with a steady hand and unwavering gaze, the doctor turned to Lala, his expression unreadable. Lala's heart raced as the doctor handed her the box after he put everything back. The sight of her bloodstained clothes, her long pipe, her little purse, and the sharp dagger Damon used to pierce her flesh and the memories of her defeat against him, flooded her mind. She shuddered, feeling a mix of anger and fear bubbling within her.

"Dr. Krikorian has deferred your case to me. It's a pleasure to meet you," the doctor said, extending his hand for a handshake. Lala hesitated, her hand hovering in the air before she decided against it. She couldn't bring herself to touch anyone, not after what had happened.

"That dagger, it seems quite old. I'm an archaeology enthusiast, so I know it’s from Mesopotamia," the doctor continued, his eyes gleaming with curiosity.

Abeona's eyes widened, and her eye color changed to aquamarine then shifted to yellow.

“Your eyes change color?” the doctor asked, mouth agape.

The doctor's observation caught her off guard, and she felt a surge of discomfort at the attention drawn to her unusual trait. She tried to control her emotions, but her eyes betrayed her, flickering from intense purple to vibrant magenta.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

As the colors danced in her eyes, Lala's unease grew. She got up from the bed abruptly, clutching the long pipe tightly in her hand, ready to defend herself if needed. The doctor seemed unfazed by her sudden movement; his focus drawn to something unexpected.

"A cat's tail?" he asked, his surprise evident in his voice. Lala's breath caught in her throat. How could he see her cat's tail? Only the Arlos and Janas of antiquity were able to see it.

In a swift motion, the doctor raised his hand, muttering a strange incantation. "Inachis Io!" he exclaimed, and a delicate peacock butterfly materialized and fluttered towards Lala. She stared at it in awe, her eyes wide with wonder at the magical display before her.

"Art thou Aram Avakian?" Lala's voice trembled with emotion, her mind reeling at the possibility unfolding before her. The doctor approached her with a gentle expression, helping her to sit back down on the bed.

"Aram Avakian died 10 years ago. I'm Toumas Avakian, his grandson," he explained, offering her an old, faded photograph. Lala's eyes widened as she gazed at the image of a boy and a girl, frozen in time. The date printed at the bottom of the picture sent a chill down her spine - April 23, 1810.

"This one had bethought that Aram died in the war," Lala murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, disbelief coloring her words.

Lala's breath caught in her throat. Aram Avakian, a kid who had been more than just a friend, made her shiver. Tears welled up in Lala's eyes, blurring her vision as she struggled to comprehend the impossible truth before her. She reached out a trembling hand to touch the photograph, feeling a connection to a past she had forgotten.

"How can thou tell who this one is?" Lala's question hung in the air, the words heavy with uncertainty and longing.

Toumas' eyes glistened with unshed tears as he recounted the stories his grandfather had shared with him, stories of a little girl named Lala who possessed powers beyond imagination. The mention of Babylon, of sorcery, of time manipulation, stirred something deep within Lala, a sense of recognition.

Toumas' gaze met hers, a mixture of sorrow and understanding swirling in his eyes. "I loved listening to my grandfather’s stories of his past. He told me about the existence of the photo, he mentioned that your eyes changed color according to your emotions. He also told me about your tail," he explained, his voice soft with reminiscence.

Lala listened intently, her heart aching with a longing she couldn't fully comprehend.

"He was this one's first friend in centuries. This one did truly love him," Lala's voice wavered with emotion, tears welling up in her peculiar grayish eyes turned blue. She embraced Toumas, her small frame trembling with the weight of her feelings, her cat's tail swishing back and forth in a mixture of joy and sorrow.

"How old was Aram at which hour he died?"

Toumas's response was a mere whisper, laden with sorrow. "He was 88," he explained, his voice tinged with grief as he wiped away tears that glistened in the dim light.

Lala's heart ached as she listened to Toumas speak of Aram, a man, a kid she had long forgotten. The sense of loss and longing that washed over her was almost palpable, a deep well of emotions threatening to consume her fragile soul.

"He had asked this one to teach him something this one does. But this one could only teach him to make that butterfly."

The memory of Aram's request, of his desire to learn Thaumaturgy from her, tugged at Lala's heartstrings, a reminder of the fleeting nature of life and the inevitability of death.

“Thanked is this one of thee for telling this one. It makes this one jubilant!” Lala hugged Toumas even harder as she cried, wagging her cat's tail.

“So, you're a Jana?”

"The Arlos and Janas say this one's kind is one like them. Nevertheless, this one is very different from a regular Thaumaturgist. What this one does cannot be considered mere Thaumaturgy. T'is something more mystic and dangerous," Lala's voice quivered. “This one is but a Tyme Gazer.”