《Sybil of the Colossal Realm》 The Sickness that Burnt Me My mother hovers over me with a concerned look. This is sure to waste a lot of time. ¡°Honey, you look terrible. Hold on, I¡¯ll get the thermometer.¡± ¡°Mom, I¡¯m fine.¡± ¡°Wait!¡± ¡°Mom, I¡¯m going to be late, practice is at seven!¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think you can go to practice today.¡± ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± I have to be there. What will Ryan think? I¡¯m Alex the little baby, I still need mommy to rock me to sleep. Asshole. What will Liz think? I¡¯m Alex the total flake, making promises as a joke. No, today I¡¯m going to make it right. Today I will be Alex, the charismatic and funny musical maestro. Today I will be Alex the admirable. Alex the desirable. I will- Mom blocks my path. ¡°Alex, stop. You¡¯re not going anywhere until I take your temperature.¡± //Sorry, I won¡¯t be able to make it to practice today, I am sick.\\ //Aww, dang. Hope you feel better soon!\\ It¡¯s seven. Here I am, stuck in my cruddy little room, in a cruddy little house, on this cruddy street, watching my chances disappear behind the horizon. I think about the possibility of sneaking out to practice while Mom is busy with dinner. But then, I already sent that text. Wouldn¡¯t it be weird to say I wasn¡¯t showing, then show up anyway? Dammit! What should I do? It¡¯s all screwed up. Pacing around my room, I think about what I said to Liz. On that day, the afternoon weather had been pleasantly mild and the field was still wet from last week¡¯s snowfall. A rowdy swarm of brass players stood in a circle, squeezing in some banter before the leader¡¯s whistle would call them back to their spots. Unmistakably, Liz was the very anchor of this circle, and we were all gathered here to be around her. ¡°He¡¯s actually psycho!¡± Liz giggled. ¡°Mister Fastener? Yeah, he has no chill. My sister had his class and she was dying for real.¡± ¡°Literally, and his last test was, like, a math test.¡± ¡°What? It¡¯s not a math class, right?¡± ¡°No, It¡¯s literally a music class. It was all these random numbers under the measure and I¡¯m like ¡®What am I supposed to do-¡± Suddenly, Liz went silent, making a show of inspecting each surface of her instrument. ¡°This trombone doesn''t have any number keys!¡± She cried in mock disbelief. Laughter was heard around the circle. Liz rolled on. ¡°Like, I already know how to play music, I don¡¯t need to do long division to it. It¡¯s such a dumb class, it¡¯s actually the worst.¡± Releasing some nervous energy, Liz giggles along with the rest of the circle. I take the moment to jump in. ¡°I actually know a ton of music theory, I could help you out with it.¡± Liz looks over at me with concern. It''s quiet. I blurt something else.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, it¡¯s really easy when you¡¯ve done it before, I don¡¯t mind helping at all.¡± Liz looks left and right. I look at my feet. Now, with a warm expression that could melt anyone¡¯s heart Liz says, ¡°Thank you Alex. That''s really kind of you.¡± ¡°Oh, it¡¯s nothing. If you¡¯d like, we can take a look at it now.¡± Jealous stares burn into me from all sides, but I don¡¯t care! She¡¯s all mine! ¡°Well, I don¡¯t¡­ I already turned it in. Um, maybe next week.¡± ¡°Alright, it¡¯s a d-¡± The FWEEET of the drum leader¡¯s whistle cuts me off. We turn to face her. She puts down her whistle and begins to rattle off the agenda. Silently, I think to myself. ¡°Did I almost say ¡®It¡¯s a date¡¯? I¡¯m getting ahead of myself.¡± Indeed I was- feverishly ideating for the whole of practice on every step I would take. It had to be perfect. I had to ensure that I could be the perfect music theory guru that Liz needed. And today, on the day I dreamed of, she¡¯s sitting at practice, wondering where I went, and I¡¯m trapped inside this stuffy room by myself with a runny nose. I sock my mattress in frustration. The week flashes through my mind, every moment sending a painful twinge to my lungs. Staying up late Monday to study figured bass and all its variations. I cough. Pushing my homework back Tuesday to refresh on cadence rules. I cough. Learning the history of notation- I wouldn¡¯t want to seem ignorant, after all. I cough and spit into a tissue. I feel as if I broke my back building a house and now it¡¯s burning to the ground. Liz, I really meant it, it wasn¡¯t an empty promise! I cough, my throat aching. I can show you, Liz! I really care, Liz, more than anyone else. My pacing and my breathing become more shallow and rapid. My head is burning up. I feel like I¡¯m being burned at the stake for the crime of being too much of a flop. God¡­ maybe if I smacked Ryan upside the face, or¡­ I circle around and around. Face¡­ Maybe if I burned this fat off of my chubby face. I sneeze. My throat feels tight. Tight¡­ Maybe if I put on the right swimsuit, on a hot day, and caught her eye. Am I hot, Liz? And if I got sunburns, Liz would nurse them, rubbing aloe vera into my tender shoulders. That would be hot. I swallow. So hot. The fire inside me swells, filling up my entire room. If these walls would crumble to ash, I¡¯d be free. I could run right to her. Maybe if I could shred a solo for Liz tonight, or whisk her away into a lively tango. And in a moment we pull away from each other, the red twilight sun shining through between our bodies. There is such a magnetic energy between us that even a cranky, dead-eyed businessman would marvel at us. One step closer, Liz, and our fire will rise higher than a skyscraper. I hack up into a tissue again. I¡¯m stuck in this room. It¡¯s not happening. It¡¯s ruined. What can I do? Oh god. She¡¯s probably talking to Ryan right now. I can¡¯t do anything. My eyes are wet, something sticks in my throat. Liz is already so far away, not even my roaring inferno can reach her. My chest hurts. It hurts all over my body. If only I could extinguish this fire, then my heart wouldn¡¯t be burning so painfully. I pace my room feverishly. Around and around the room spins, my thoughts circling with them. Ryan ain¡¯t shit. He can go to hell. Don¡¯t talk to him, Liz. Talk to me. I promise I¡¯ll show you. I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m sorry I broke my promise. I¡¯m falling. And around again. Don¡¯t listen to Ryan, he doesn¡¯t know anything. Liz, I¡¯ll be there soon. You can count on me. I¡¯m just a little late, don¡¯t worry. Something hits my face. I¡¯m sorry, oh god I¡¯m so sorry. I didn¡¯t mean to upset you. And around again. Ryan you asshole, stop talking about me! Liz, you need to listen to me! I¡¯m sorry! The floor is hard. I¡¯m sorry. What can I do? The roaring flames of unrequited love surround me, licking at the tips of my fingers, charring the soles of my feet, disintegrating the ends of my hair. But as I laid unconscious on the floor, there was nothing I could do. I was terribly sick. A statuesque woman with rich amber hair lays motionless on the floor of a small, ornately carved canoe. An unfathomably vast ocean spreads out in every direction, deep indigo waves pushing up against the serene blue of the clear sky. As the canoe rocks back and forth over the waves, carrying its dormant passenger, a plume of black smoke rises up from the tiny vessel, like a streak of charcoal traced up across the middle of the sky. The canoe is burning, and the woman along with it. She stares wide-eyed up into the sky, never flinching. Even as the flames crawl up from under her waist, her hands remain fixed over her chest, wrapped tightly around the hilt of a ceremonial dagger. Though her eyes are open, she is dead, and this burning canoe is her sendoff. Some ways back, a fleet of bulky ships watches in mourning, as the flames spread out from the stern of the canoe. Today, the soul of Sybil the warrior will return into that great light above from which she came. A flaming arrow arcs down from the nearest ship and into the tiny boat, striking Sybil''s lifeless body in the shoulder. In that moment, something changes. The pillar of smoke seems to topple in the direction of the fleet as a startling gust of wind whips through the sails. And underneath the roaring of the wind, a surreal voice rings out. ¡°OWWW!¡± Sybil cries. Cleopatra Saved Me Swallowed in the flames of my yearning, I cough and wheeze under the smoke. I feel my body drifting and rolling as if I were on a boat. Am I dying? The tiniest whir meets my ears, and suddenly, something hits my shoulder with the force of a truck. ¡°OWWW!¡± I open my eyes. I¡¯m surrounded by fire. Not metaphorical fire. Fire, real fire. I hiss in pain as I drag myself backward out of the flames. It hurts, worse than anything I have ever felt before. Even if I were to die right now, I think I would feel the pain for another year. Sheer terror fills my mind entirely. My burned legs scrape along the wood underneath and I nearly pass out. I pant and cough, my mind completely blank. There is still a stabbing pain in my shoulder. In my peripheral vision, I see a thin spoke of wood sticking out from a bloody wound. I gape at the object piercing into my shoulder. An arrow? Worse, a flaming arrow. The shaft is on fire and it¡¯s spreading down toward my shoulder. I panic. I need to get rid of it. I grasp it with my other hand. The second I touch it, pain from the entry wound jolts through me. ¡°AAAAGHH!¡± Shit. I can¡¯t do it. I gasp for oxygen that isn¡¯t there. The fire crawls closer. I don''t have time. I need to get out of here. What the hell is going on? Is my house burning down? Is Mom okay? What about Lana? I grimace in agony, pushing myself up into a sitting position. I draw short painful gasps of breath, looking around in shock. My heart nearly stops. Deep blue ocean surrounds me on all sides. This isn¡¯t my house. I¡¯m sitting in a burning canoe in the middle of the ocean. This can¡¯t be real. The rational part of my mind knows it can¡¯t possibly be real, but there is a dreadful feeling in my gut that it must be real, and I¡¯m stuck here. I¡¯m supposed to be at home, stewing in my room, agonizing over my crush, not roasting alive and agonizing about the flaming rod sticking out from my shoulder. But it¡¯s all too vivid, too strange to be a dream. There¡¯s no way I could imagine this level of pain on my own. What reason and intelligence I have left are quickly drained from me as the fire spreads down from the arrow and into the wound from where it protrudes. It hurts. It hurts it hurts it hurts. I scramble over the side of the canoe, throwing myself into the water with the desperation of a wild animal. Frigid water envelops my body, cancelling out any sound. The flames and heat are swallowed up in the darkness. Perhaps I would have worried about hypothermia, or drowning, but my mind was far too scattered for such things. Breathe. That was my only thought. I need to breathe. I clamber for the surface, but quickly discover that my left shoulder is out of commission. Any slight movement of my arm makes a sharp pain that feels like I¡¯m being repeatedly shot with a rifle. Pain courses up and down my body, lighting up my spine like the lights on an old arcade machine. Not metaphorically, it actually glows. I don¡¯t know if I¡¯m hallucinating, but I swear I can actually see lights flashing out from my torso in the darkness. This is all too surreal. I don¡¯t want to do this. I don¡¯t want to be here. Thrashing my legs, I splash above the surface of the water, but I can¡¯t stay up for long. I gulp in a mixture of air and seawater, stressing my muscles to the point of failure. It¡¯s then that I hear a voice, high and strained. ¡°Kelvem cot shunbagitt!¡± a woman cries from nearby. Thank God! A wave of adrenaline shoots through me. I can¡¯t make out what she said, but I crane around wildly trying to spot her. I hear her panicked voice again. ¡°Sybil! Shunbaggit ibit lappa!¡± I can¡¯t tell what she¡¯s saying over the splashing waves and my own rapid panting. My mind is at its limit anyways. I struggle towards the voice with the last of my strength. ¡°SYBIL!¡± she screams. I can''t make it. I fall. The ocean engulfs my limp body. This is it. I don¡¯t know what to do. I don¡¯t know where I am. I don''t even know how I got here. The sickening realization dawns on me that this is how I die. Pain, panic, asphyxiation, and that¡¯s the end. Of everything. But just as my head dips below the surface, I spot something floating on the water less than a meter away. It¡¯s too dark to see, and I¡¯m being buried deeper and deeper in the waves. But for some reason I know exactly what it is, automatically. It¡¯s a rope. I can''t make it out, but I just know it''s a rope. How do I know? Somehow I¡¯m certain of it. It doesn''t make much sense, but I¡¯m too worried about dying to care. It''s a rope. I need to grab the rope. I have no energy, yet from somewhere I draw out one last push. This is the last chance. I blindly thrash in the direction of the rope, feeling my spirit decay down to atoms as my blood trails behind me through the water. I grab onto something. It feels like- I¡¯ll be damned, it really was a rope! Determination washes over me. I¡¯m not going to die! As I grip it, the rope begins being tugged backward. I hold on for dear life, letting everything else go. Even my face goes limp. I can''t turn my head to see what''s pulling me, and I certainly don''t have the power to turn my body around. ¡°Nok ermibo got! Sybil, be dascha!¡± The woman yells from behind me. What language is that? Then, from above, a lanky arm reaches out toward me. I try grabbing on with my left hand. I don''t get far. ¡°AGH!¡± I hack loudly. Blood oozes from my shoulder. Dammit! Not the left hand, I have to remember, that one is strictly off limits! The arrow twists in my wound, like a drill bit boring into my shoulder, overwhelming me. I let go of the rope. For a moment, I start sinking again, but the woman catches my outstretched right hand. I grab onto hers with all of my strength. She pulls as hard as she can. Emerging shoulders up from the water, I finally face her rowboat, and see her for the first time. I suck in breath like my life depends on it. Wind whipping around us, we behold each other. This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. She almost looks like she could be Cleopatra''s sister. Rather, Cleopatra¡¯s starving sister. A small woman with stark, clear-cut features like a model, dazzling gold jewelry contrasting against plain white robes. She seems like a ghost dislodged from the pages of ancient history. The pale fabric draped gracefully over her tan body is juxtaposed against her glossy black hair, which hangs straight down in thick strands like big handfuls of licorice. She tries her best to pull me out of the water. Unable to move my other arm, I hang there uselessly. ¡°Pak!¡± She curses, struggling to lift me even an inch. ¡°Yuutum. Be galaap goek jascha.¡± She gripes in a weak voice. Whatever language this is, I¡¯ve never heard it. She seems angry. Neither of us can make any progress pulling me up into her rowboat, so we just sort of hold hands for a while. This might even be romantic if I wasn¡¯t bleeding out and panting like a dog. I take a single deep breath. My body is weak and my voice comes out hoarse and scratchy. ¡°Do you speak english?¡± I ask with little hope. The woman just looks at me in surprise. I assume that¡¯s a no. We stare at each other for a moment before her eyes dart away to the left. Huh? I follow her gaze leftward to¡­ absolutely nothing, just more water. She looks back at me again, but as soon as I meet her gaze with my own, she turns her head again, shunning me with a grumpy expression. She¡¯s very awkward. Why is she frowning? Am I that ugly? I look down at myself. Weirdly, my body seems very different from usual. I don¡¯t remember my skin being that dark before. Did I get toasted by that fire? Is that how that works? I don¡¯t think that¡¯s how that works. My arm is oddly muscular, too. I¡¯m really in no condition to assess my body, however. The whole moment passes in a daze as my heart races away. I¡¯m still catching my breath for a while. The wind and waves heave along with me. I watch the stranger holding me up as she stares off at the horizon. I wonder what her name is. She doesn¡¯t speak English, so I¡¯m unable to ask her. Maybe charades would work? With one arm? ¡­Probably not. My anxious speculation seems to make the woman¡¯s nose itch. She finally looks back towards me, seeming irritated. For a second, we stare into each other''s eyes. Her eyes are blue, but a shade unlike I¡¯ve ever seen. They aren¡¯t sky blue, but instead they are the color of the ocean, a rich, deep blue, almost purple. There''s something calming about them. Like before, she immediately looks away in a huff. ¡°Sybil!¡± She sounds mad. Is she¡­ blushing? Maybe I¡¯m staring too much. I look elsewhere and finally notice the handful of rowboats that have been approaching us. They look friendly. Thank god. It dawns on me just how lucky I am not to be dead at the moment. Though, I¡¯m closer to dead than I¡¯d like to be. When the rowboats are close enough, they slow to a stop. Then, someone stands up. I can hardly believe my eyes in the moments that follow. A muscular giant of a woman leaps into the air from her boat and crashes down right next to the woman holding my hand. ¡°AAAaaee!¡± She shrieks, involuntarily letting go of my hand. The boat splashes and rocks violently, almost capsizing. The poor little lady is completely knocked off balance and falls backward into the boat. ¡°Uhhh?¡± I moan dumbly, slowly sinking back into the water beneath me. My mind is just TV noise. I am unable to compute my current situation. In one swift movement, as if she were merely picking up a purse off her nightstand, the towering strongwoman reaches down and yanks me up out of the water. Her massive hands wrapped around my sides, she holds me up in the air like some kind of pet cat. A shiver runs down my spine as I look at her. She stares into my eyes with an intense expression. There are tears streaming down her flushed cheeks. Her reddish hair converges into a tight, thick bun. The tense knot of fiery hues conjures into my mind a split-second snapshot of the exact moment a vacuum bomb detonates. The anachronistic leather tunic she sports is hardly worth noting compared to the exquisite muscles it rests atop. She has muscles bulging in places I didn¡¯t even know muscles existed. Wow, even her jaw is ludicrously muscular. With a face like that, she could scare off an MMA fighter without saying a word. And if she did open her mouth, who knows? On that note, she belts out a cry that nearly makes my ears ring. ¡°KEEEIHVEEEEEE!¡± She roars, swallowing me in a suffocating hug. ¡°OW! That hurts!¡± I wheeze. This ¡°hug¡± would have hurt even if I weren¡¯t gravely injured. At the very least, she holds me high enough so that the arrow sticking out of me clears her shoulder. Rocking from one foot to another, she spins around, a veritable tornado of passion. Captive in her arms, I endure this strange carnival ride for the time being, just thankful to breathe air. This rowboat is unusually sturdy and buoyant, but I¡¯m not going to complain. The massive woman sobs, repeating the same phrase again and again. ¡°KIVI, KIVI, KIVI, KEEVEEEE!¡± My eardrums hurt at least one percent as much as the rest of my body. And why does she keep calling me her sister? ¡°Quiet already! I¡¯m not your damn sister!¡± I gripe, wincing in pain. In that moment, I didn¡¯t even realize that I had perfectly understood her strange language. She stops spinning, seeming to cool down a bit. Over the weeping amazon¡¯s shoulder, I spot poor little Cleopatra, finally getting her footing as the rocking boat settles. With one hand she nurses a bump on her temple. With her other hand clenched into a tiny fist, she unleashes a flurry of punches into the tall woman¡¯s back, all of which go entirely unnoticed. I blink. Who are these damned people? The mountain of a woman speaks again, now at an acceptable volume. ¡°Ohh, Kivi, be nona kaischen!¡± she finally places me back down into the boat. ¡°Yuutum, yuutum, bi gohuaschinin¡±. Standing is difficult, so I gingerly plop myself back onto a seat. Maybe it''s the adrenaline, but I think the burns don''t hurt as bad as before. I clear my throat before thoughtlessly replying in a language I¡¯ve never spoken before. Inconceivably, these are the words that left my lips: ¡°Shaywah, be fiki bi zalus en chuss. Tel noor be bi sese ¡®kivi¡¯?¡± I blink a few times, as does the amazon. Then I gasp. She gasps. Even the little woman behind her gasps. I nearly pass out from the shock, though I currently have many reasons to pass out. ¡°What the hell!?¡± Speaking the Unknown Language ¡°What the hell!?¡± I blurt in English. Did I really just speak a new language? Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to make sense of what just happened. Have I lost my mind? Yes, definitely. I shudder as a breeze blows over my soaking body. The realization dawns on me that when she cried ¡°Kivi, Kivi!¡± I had somehow understood that to mean ¡°Sister, sister!¡±. Not only that, but before that, when the little woman yelled about a ¡°shunbaggit¡±, I somehow knew that she meant ¡°rope¡±. This is unthinkable. If I think about it, I don¡¯t know a single word in this language, yet, if I don¡¯t concentrate on it at all, the meaning of the words is perfectly clear to me, as if I¡¯ve spoken this language for my whole life. The muscular woman sorrowfully holds her hands over her face, as if to hide it from the sun. Little Miss Cleopatra gets her attention and speaks to her, softly ranting to her with a worried expression. ¡°... lost her mind. We need a doctor to take care of her quickly.¡± the small woman declares in her foreign language. There¡¯s one word I can¡¯t seem to understand, maybe. I¡¯m not sure. As it is, I can¡¯t think about it too much. ¡°But how could someone forget their own sister?¡± ¡°Are you hard of hearing? I told you, ¡­ lost her mind!¡± ¡°...¡± ¡°Let¡¯s head to Wax Ship.¡± As they begin rowing towards the huge vessels in the distance, a melancholy silence falls between us. Only the icy wind continues, howling in its lonesome alien song. Besides suddenly speaking a new language, I have a much bigger problem. No, not the arrow in my shoulder. I need to figure out where I am, how I got here, and how to get back home. It''s too much all at once. I just focus on being glad I¡¯m not dead. I suck in the salty air and clutch my limp arm as I shiver. The other two begin speaking again, but I tune them out as much as I can, just focusing on the little warm spot where my palm touches my left arm. As the ships get closer, I truly begin to comprehend their massive size. Just one of them could probably fit every student at my school on deck. As our rowboat crawls into the expansive shadow of one ship, I can make out all kinds of carvings trailing along the upper contours of the ship. While the bottom of the ship is oddly featureless and smoothed over like a river rock, the top of the ship hardly has any blank space. Pictographic carvings of fire, smoke, and winged people, perhaps angels, punctuate long strands of abstract runes which I can¡¯t make any heads or tails of. In the tall vessel''s chilly shadow, the two girls rowing begin to argue. I tune them out for a bit, trying not to stress my mind any further. Quickly, my curiosity gets the best of me. ¡°But she¡¯s my sister, I should be with her!¡± bellowed the tall one. ¡°Knowing you, you¡¯d start a fight with the doctors. I¡¯m going to take her, and you can report to Arkoda.¡± The tall woman frowns. ¡°Okay.¡± ¡°And call down the ¡­¡± The little woman uses another word I can¡¯t understand ¡°Okay.¡± Replies the strongwoman. We pass deeper into the umbra of the ship, getting close enough to the side that I can hear the wood creaking. Still frowning, the big woman stands up, rocking the boat. She then hollers a short phrase up toward the deck of the ship, leaving my ears ringing. Frankly, I don¡¯t think the volume was necessary. Only a moment passes before a shrill voice calls back. With that, a hefty contraption extends out from the deck, an organized cluster of dowels and hooks now looming way above us. Gears thunk together in a tremolo as four hooks on chains drop down towards our rowboat. I squint at it in amazement. The small woman stands up, steps toward me, and says a word I cannot understand. I look up at her. ¡°...nevermind, you can¡¯t do anything with your arm like that. Just sit there.¡± she says, now standing over me. I grimace, trying not to look at or think about the arrow jammed in my shoulder, lest I blow any fresh air on the embers of the pain. Additionally, if I think about being stuck out here on the ocean with these strangers, I will start screaming. Instead, I choose to focus on the little woman, closely watching with curiosity to see what she does next. Her eyes dart around impatiently at the swaying hooks above. Though her features are gaunt, there is something lively, even fierce, about them that could be called beautiful. Shit, I shouldn¡¯t stare so much. As the hooks descend, she snatches two of them from above her. The tall woman follows suit, though in her case she needn¡¯t reach above her shoulders to do so. They hold the hooks up for a moment, letting some more slack roll down into the chain until it nearly touches their feet. The little woman reaches behind me now, slotting both thick hooks into two symmetrical gaps carved into the hull of the boat. The other bends down to hook hers into two raised loops along the centerline of the boat. She stands again, cupping a hand beside her mouth. I plug one ear with my working hand, but plugging the other is a lost cause. After some bellowing from our side and oddly falsetto responses from the deck of the massive ship, the ropes straighten out, and our little rowboat begins to rise out of the water. It¡¯s truly a fascinating device. It seems to have no metal parts, but the wooden pieces move and rotate as if they were being pulled by magnets. Even the chains and hooks seem to be made out of some odd matte substance. Whatever it is, it¡¯s strong enough to hold the three of us up in the air. If I really want to know what it is, I suppose I can ask¡­ This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. I nearly open my mouth, but a shiver runs down my spine. Was I about to speak in that strange language again? I can¡¯t speak that language. I don¡¯t even know it! How could that be possible? It shouldn¡¯t be. I don¡¯t want it to be. I swallow the words. I wish this were only a dream. As the clunking of the machine slows, our rowboat gradually peeks over the side of the ship. I hear the chatter and screams of playing children. The ship is quite populated, but to my shock, there is not an adult in sight. Children of all ages sprawl across the deck of the boat, singing, fighting, threading bead necklaces, and even the group operating the strange mechanical device, which lifted us up here, are just kids. What¡¯s going on here? Why are there all these kids out here? Where are we, anyways? I have so many questions, but I¡¯m too afraid to let the words form. I¡¯m afraid to speak even once, to leave footprints in this fever dream, to get used to this alien language. I¡¯m afraid to prove the unthinkable. I¡¯d rather pretend I¡¯m not here at all. I grit my teeth. My mind is still swamped in a haze, and I¡¯m just running on fumes. ¡°Can you walk? Come on already.¡± Says the short woman, as she finishes climbing out onto the ship¡¯s deck. Silently, I obey, climbing aboard with only one hand to steady myself, taking care that I don¡¯t plummet down into the waves below. ¡°I¡¯ll return soon, sister.¡± the strongwoman promises, still standing in the rowboat. I look back to the short woman, who says nothing in reply. Silent treatment? With a cacophony of gears, the rowboat is lowered back down to the water. The tall woman gives me a worried look as she sinks down below view. The short woman starts off towards the stern of the ship. I trail behind her. Kids stare at us from every direction. We stick out like two sore thumbs. I just look at the ground and stick to her shadow. When I look up, I see at the rear of the deck a uniform row of large bird cages suspended off of the wall. A few of the cages have parrots in them, but they look very strange. It almost seems as if the parrots have no eyes. Are these even parrots at all? ¡°...¡± I pause, almost asking my question aloud. Again, I¡¯m afraid to speak. I close my eyes. Be rational. If I ever want to figure out where I am and how I got here, I¡¯m going to have to ask questions. No matter how much I want to ignore this reality, it will still be there when I open my eyes. Here goes nothing. I take a deep breath and open my eyes again. I let the strange language flow over my tongue. ¡°What are thes-¡± ¡°Hurry up! We don¡¯t have time to waste!¡± growls the short woman. I shut my mouth and snap to her side. Beside the stairways leading up onto the helm of the boat, there are a few large doors leading to interior decks. I¡¯m led over to one door where a young girl in a worn black shawl stands at attention. As we approach, she opens the door, ushering the two of us inside. My eyes adjust to the darkness. We¡¯re walking down a long, gloomy corridor which leads to a number of doors on either side like a school hallway. Big bench platforms stretch down almost the entire length of the walls on either side. Along the platforms, sickly and malnourished kids sit and lay in various levels of unconsciousness. I wince at the macabre scene. Little Cleopatra points at a space on the bench. ¡°Stay there and don¡¯t move.¡± She marches off down the hall without explaining. I muster the strength to call after her. ¡°Wait!¡± I blurt desperately in her language. ¡°What? Is something wrong?¡± ¡°Um¡­¡± ¡°I don¡¯t have time for this!¡± ¡°Wait.¡± I have a long list of questions to ask her, but this seems like a good place to start: ¡°What is your name?¡± The little lady scoffs at me. ¡°You¡¯re confused. Just be quiet and wait there.¡± Now alone, I slump down on the bench. I don¡¯t know a thing, not even the name of the girl who saved me. Chances are, it¡¯s not ¡°Cleopatra¡±. I cover my face with my working hand. Jammed against the rough wood of the dark corridor, there is nothing to focus on besides my burning questions and my aching wounds. I force out heavy audible breaths. Time moves slowly, digging in its claws like a stubborn old cat being taken to the vet. Why am I out on the ocean? How did I get here? Who are these weird people? Most of all, how can I possibly know a language without¡­ knowing I know it? I want to get up, storm down the hall, throw open the door, and give that wannabe Cleopatra a piece of my mind. Can someone please explain to me what the hell is going on? But I¡¯m too weak to move. Like a car¡¯s engine that refuses to start, my mind spins and spins noisily going nowhere. I think back to my home. Mom will be worried sick about me. My sister too. And there¡¯s no way in hell I¡¯m making it back to band practice now. My aches, exhaustion, and now an intense hunger bubbles up to the surface of my mind. Bubbles rise, pop, and more bubbles follow in time. The pace is glacial. My mind is settling, but far from settled. I clench my jaw and endure, until a voice pulls me back to the present. ¡°Sit up!¡± The wannabe Cleopatra commands me, now standing over me. She gently touches my uninjured shoulder. I shift my body, gingerly laying my burning back against the uneven wall. She sits down beside me, looking down at my feet. The soft fabric of her robe brushes against me. For the first time, it occurs to me that I¡¯m wearing a robe too. Since when? Mine robe is more charcoal than cloth, and falls over my body in baggy uneven lumps. In all the panic and surprise, I suppose that my change of wardrobe was the last thing on my mind. The short woman clears her throat, still looking towards our feet. I gaze down at her. Why doesn¡¯t she want to look at me? Her attitude is really off-putting. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, you¡¯re not going to die. They will be ready soon.¡± She says quietly. I hazard a question. ¡°...Where are we?¡± This earns a disappointed sigh from her. ¡°The doctor¡¯s hold. They can treat you here.¡± ¡°Okay¡­ good.¡± Finally, she gives me a straight answer! A silent moment passes. Just then, a group of adolescent girls in black shawls emerge from the doorway at the end of the hall. They carry something like a wooden stretcher down the hall. They¡¯re the oldest kids here, but still, why kids? Though some of the kids are older than the others, in this whole corridor, we are incontestably the oldest here. Many of the kids have been giving nervous glances in our direction. It¡¯s all very strange. Watching the black-shawled girls march past us, I try another question. ¡°So¡­ why are there so many kids here?¡± I ask. Amazed, the short woman actually looks at me. ¡°Those,¡± she points at the passing girls, ¡°are the doctors.¡± These "Doctors" are Kids In the room at the end of the hall, doctors are wrapping up a patient with a rudimentary form of gauze. They have been working tirelessly since the break of dawn. In the hallway outside, many more patients await treatment, knowing they may have to wait until tomorrow before they are seen. It is a constant process of transporting stretchers and patients this way and that. And at the end of the hall, I sit with a stranger, about to ask a question. As it turns out, it was a pretty stupid question. ¡°So¡­ why are there so many kids here?¡± ¡°Those¡­ are the doctors.¡± She replies, as if it was common sense. My mouth hangs open in silence. ¡°The kids are the doctors?¡± ¡°The ones dressed in black? Yes!¡± ¡°Are you serious?¡± ¡°What? Of course! Pak!¡± The short woman swears, ¡°You aren¡¯t thinking straight!¡± It¡¯s odd, I don¡¯t know what ¡°Pak¡± means, but I somehow know it¡¯s a curse word. We get a nervous glance from the others in the corridor. She sighs. ¡°I don¡¯t know what¡¯s happened to you. It¡¯s like you¡¯ve turned into a completely different person.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know what¡¯s going on either, okay? I don¡¯t know you! I don¡¯t know where I am! And I don¡¯t know what I¡¯m doing here!¡± ¡°Stop that.¡± She brushes her hand over my arm, ¡°Calm down. The doctors can fix you.¡± I swallow my spit, trying once again to avoid looking at the bloody arrow which juts out on the edge of my peripheral vision. ¡°There¡¯s no point in talking to you right now.¡± She states bluntly, ¡°After the doctor treats you, let¡¯s talk.¡± I frown at her. I¡¯m acting perfectly reasonable- It¡¯s her attitude that¡¯s the problem! The two of us stare at nothing for a while. Then, from the other end of the hall, a young girl calls out something. The kids who had been languishing on the benches perk up, hoping they might hear their own name. ¡°Naja agnis!¡± The girl shouts. I can¡¯t discern the word¡¯s meaning. From beside me, the short woman rises to her feet. Where she had been sitting just a moment before, I get a clear view down the length of the bench. In real time I watch a line of hopeful kids slouch down in poorly veiled disappointment. Nope, it¡¯s not their turn quite yet. ¡°Nah-jah-agh-ness,¡± I sound out, curious, ¡°What does that mean?¡± One of the moping kids spins around to see, as if I¡¯ve said something terrible. ¡°What? Is that a bad word?¡± I whisper. Without looking back, the small woman replies: ¡°That¡¯s my name.¡± ¡°Oh¡­¡± ¡°Get up.¡± She holds out a slender hand to lead me down the corridor. We step into a gloomy room, crowded with dozens of wooden chests and unfamiliar tools. It¡¯s crowded with people, too. A small group of black-shrouded kids, all of them girls, stare back at me- or rather, through me. The second the door closes behind us, I am confronted by a girl a little over half my height. She gapes up at me, pale and sweating, as if she were face to face with a ghost. With her anemic complexion, her skeletal features, and the dark shroud cloaking her in black from head to toe, I feel like I¡¯m the one who¡¯s really seeing a ghost. Is this supposed to be my ¡®doctor¡¯? She stares off into nothing, muttering something under her breath. ¡°Alive¡­ Standing¡­ Breathing¡­¡± She pants, shakily reaching out to touch me. ¡°Are you-¡± ¡­really a doctor? I begin to say, only getting as far as ¡°you-¡±. ¡°AAAIEEE!¡± She shrieks, yanking her hand away. ¡°WHA!?¡± I shout, jumping in surprise. I glance, bewildered, back at the little woman who dragged me to this supposed ¡°doctor¡±. Agnis- that was her name. What¡¯s the joke, Agnis? Before I can speak, her face suddenly becomes panicked. Stolen novel; please report. ¡°KRASA!¡± Agnis yells suddenly, knocking me out of her way. ¡°Huh!?¡± I turn back to see the ghostly little ¡°doctor¡± l holding a knife toward her own face. She stares wildly down the blade as if she were trying to see into the barrel of a gun. Before she can stab it into her eye, Agnis and some of the other kids rush to pry away the long knife from her. ¡°LET GO!¡± Agnis shouts. The girl is hysterical, her wailing voice rising wildly. ¡°No! I¡¯m a murderer! I killed her! I¡¯m no doctor! I- I should die.¡± Tears well in her eyes. The others carry the knife away as she grasps wildly at it. My jaw is on the floor. This is my fucking doctor? I need to get off this god damned boat. ¡°Krasa! Stop!¡± Agnis commands. Krasa- that must be her name. The young girl lets out a frustrated moan as she is lifted off the ground. I gawk at Agnis, who has suddenly snatched up the crying girl. She cradles Krasa in her slender arms, bridal style. Everyone hesitates for a moment, a single reprieve of silence from the chaos. ¡°You IDIOT!¡± Agnis hisses. Agnis gives the ¡°doctor¡± an earful. The girl sobs as Agnis continues to rebuke her. ¡°She needs medical attention! Right now!¡± she roars, ¡°Hurting yourself doesn¡¯t help ANYONE!¡± ¡°Sorry- I¡¯m sorry.¡± The girl whines through her tears. She swallows, looking up at the ceiling. ¡°Never do something stupid like that again.¡± ¡°Yes ma¡¯am.¡± Krasa mumbles shamefully. ¡°Are you done freaking out?¡± ¡°Mmmm,¡± with little balled up fists, Krasa rubs her eyes, ¡°Yes, I am.¡± ¡°If you have to, then apologize. After that, get to work.¡± Agnis gently wipes tears from the girl¡¯s face and brushes a hand over her hair. Seeming relatively calm, Krasa reluctantly paces over toward me. She trembles with emotion, unable to look me in the eyes. Her guilty gaze bores holes into the ground. ¡°May I offer you an apology?¡± She sniffles. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­ I¡¯m sorry. I beg your forgiveness for my grave missteps. I was wrong.¡± ¡°Wha-? Whatever, it¡¯s fine. Did I scare you, or something?¡± ¡°No, it¡¯s all my fault. I¡¯m sorry.¡± her face is flushed in shame, ¡°You don¡¯t know, I suppose. You couldn''t know. I¡¯ve done something terrible. It was I who testified to the chief that you were dead. I even went against my colleagues¡¯ suggestions. I alone elected to have you sent off. My shame is immeasurable. I can no longer call myself a doctor. Strike me down if you wish to. I¡¯m very sorry, ¡­¡± ¡°You-...¡± I trail off, taking in her whole bizarre confession. Firstly, she¡¯s astonishingly well-spoken for her age. More importantly, what she says makes no sense. I think for a moment. The preceding events replay in my mind. I have no idea how I got here in the first place, but when I came to, I was on a burning boat. A flaming arrow hit me in the shoulder. Was there some kind of naval battle going on? If so, where was the enemy? Why was I completely alone out on the water? An ambush? But that doesn¡¯t explain people¡¯s reaction. Everyone I meet seems incredulous to see me alive, especially this kid, who is supposed to be some kind of doctor, apparently. By ¡°sent off¡±, does she mean¡­ a funeral? And her apology makes no sense. I arrived on this boat merely minutes ago. We¡¯ve only just met. So how can she have already ¡°declared¡± me dead? And surely, anyone could tell that I¡¯m still alive just by looking at me. Right? I don¡¯t get it. I¡¯m too drained to solve this conundrum. The so-called ¡°doctor¡± peers up at me with teary eyes. ¡°Uh. I forgive you, miss Krasa.¡± ¡°I¡¯m very sorry, ...¡± She repeats. Again, there¡¯s one word she uses that I don¡¯t understand. ¡°Sip-¡± something. How I can understand any of these words is beyond me anyways. The girls dust themselves off, and straighten out the room. With that strange incident resolved, I¡¯m led over to what seems to be a primitive operation table covered in a large fur. It¡¯s very low to the ground, almost to the point of looking like a coffee table. The girls insist that I lay down on the table. I¡¯m tired of standing, so I begrudgingly humor them. I spot one girl beside me taking out some kind of straw effigy. Little thorns of various colors are stuck into different parts of the doll¡¯s body. ¡°Voodoo!?¡± I exclaim. ¡°Sorry, what was that?¡± Little Krasa politely replies. ¡°Tha- OW!¡± I point over at the straw doll with my left hand for a second before recoiling in pain. Wrong hand, dammit. ¡°You don¡¯t need to move, please stay still for me, okay?¡± Krasa purrs in a saccharine voice which, coming from a girl as young as her, feels quite condescending. She¡¯s entered an entirely different mode than before. But as what¡¯s about to happen dawns on me, I could hardly be bothered to care about her tone. I was so caught up with the chaos, I hadn¡¯t considered the idea of actually having medicine done on me by these kids. This ¡°operation room¡± is not up to standard. It¡¯s barely in the bronze age. Not to mention my loose cannon of a ¡°doctor¡±. She¡¯s practically half my age! How can she possibly be a doctor!? This is absurd. If I stay here, I¡¯m going to die. I¡¯m not doing this. I don¡¯t care if I have to keep this arrow in my shoulder for a bit longer. I¡¯ll try my luck at an actual hospital. I sit up. ¡°You need to lay down now, okay?¡± Krasa says in that same sickly sweet affect. ¡°¡­ I¡¯m leaving.¡± ¡°Lay down, or I¡¯m going to make you.¡± She threatens, sing-songily. My Barbarian Operation ¡°Lie down, or I¡¯m going to make you.¡± Krasa chimes brightly, as if she were wishing me a happy new year. ¡°What? No!¡± I can¡¯t believe this is the same girl. There¡¯s still red around her eyes from crying, but now she¡¯s ordering me around? I¡¯m not down with any of this. I swing my legs over the side of the table. Krasa signals to the rest of the kids standing around her, and just like that, they leap into action. Suddenly, I¡¯m being wrestled to the table by a squad of girls half my size. What they lack in strength, they make up for in practiced coordination. I cry out in pain as they grab my arms. I get my right arm free, shoving back one of the girls. She stumbles backwards to the wall. I turn to Agnis who is standing in the corner with her palms on her face in exhaustion. ¡°Agnis! Help me!¡± Agnis glares back at me, then marches over to the table wordlessly. ¡°Thank yo- OWW!¡± Agnis joins the others, wrestling me back down to the table. I should be strong enough to get free, but my injuries make fighting back preventatively painful. I lose steam quickly. So I lay there, held down by a crowd of exhausted tweens and a pissed off Agnis. I feel like a trapped animal. ¡°See? I told you, she¡¯s lost her mind!¡± Agnis chides. ¡°Shhh, shhh. Don¡¯t worry. All you need to do is hold still.¡± Krasa says, attempting to keep me pacified. It doesn¡¯t matter. It¡¯s not like I can do anything. I close my eyes, trying to forget where I am. One of the assistants begins to tug on my robes. What does she want? Unexpectedly, she pulls the robe out from under me. It slides away easily, as if it were merely a blanket that was wrapped around my torso. How did she¡­? I open my eyes to the sight of my naked burned flesh. It¡¯s horrible. It doesn¡¯t even look like my body anymore. I wince, quickly squeezing my eyes shut again. I pray that all of this is a dream. I pray to wake up in my own bed. I pray to wake up with a headache and a sore throat, even. ¡°Oooh!¡± I make an involuntary noise, shivering as some kind of ointment is applied across my exposed body. It¡¯s cold! I squirm around, making Krasa speak up again. ¡°Don¡¯t move, okay? Stay still. We¡¯re not going to hurt you.¡± I glare at the team of girls holding my naked body in place, and say nothing. Agnis has left my side for some reason. I squeeze my eyes shut again. I try to think of something else, anything else, like a Pink Floyd guitar solo, or the taste of Tillamook sharp cheddar, or the way Liz¡¯s lip gloss catches the light when she smiles. Try as I might, I can¡¯t think about anything but getting hacked apart with bone saws by these barbarian lunatics. I swear, if they start cutting me up, I¡¯m going to kick these kids¡¯ teeth in with all my might. Maybe it¡¯s just the cold temperature of this ointment, but I can feel my burns cooling, and the pain receding. I can feel my muscles relaxing, and my racing heart beginning to mellow. I breathe slower. Am I worried over nothing? Perhaps they actually know what they¡¯re doing. Agnis said so, after all. The tension in my body relaxes a bit. Maybe Krasa senses this, now speaking in a hushed voice. ¡°Feels better, right? Now, I need you to drink this potion. Sit up for me, okay?¡± ¡°Potion?¡± my eyes pop open. I sit up, pulling myself away from Krasa¡¯s assistants. I look around for my robe. I call to Agnis, who is looking off into space on the far side of the room. ¡°You! Agnis! This girl is not a real doctor! There¡¯s no way! I don¡¯t have time for magic mumbo jumbo!¡± The little doctor freezes, my comment stripping away the resolve she had mustered. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. ¡°I- I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m sorry.¡± Krasa repeats quietly, sinking to the floor with a shell-shocked expression. ¡°Arghh! Krasa! Don¡¯t listen to her!¡± Agnis says, red with anger, grabbing my shoulders and throwing me back down on the table. ¡°OUGH!¡± I wheeze. ¡°Do as I say. Don¡¯t speak. You don¡¯t know what you¡¯re saying.¡± Pinning her weight down onto my shoulders, Agnis looms over me from behind. Hanging down from the top of my vision, she looks like a bloodthirsty bat. ¡°Krasa. Give it to me.¡± Agnis holds out one hand to the side, taking a little wooden flask from the dejected girl. ¡°What¡¯s-¡± ¡°Open your mouth.¡± ¡°Huh?¡± ¡°Swallow.¡± Not even looking in my direction, Agnis blindly shoves the flask between my teeth, pouring a bitter liquid down my throat. I cough it back up. It¡¯s all over my face. ¡°Ughhh! Are you incapable of listening?¡± She lets go of my shoulder, and I have half a mind to run for the door. The other half of my mind begs me not to move a muscle. I lay still. As my pain recedes, a profound exhaustion has taken hold of me. I don¡¯t really feel bothered by the fact I¡¯m naked anymore. I don¡¯t even bother wiping the spit from my face. ¡°She spit it all up.¡± Agnis grumbles regretfully. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. This is all my fault¡± Krasa mumbles from the floor. ¡°Save your guilt for later.¡± Agnis sighs, helping Krasa stand. Brushing off her doubts, Krasa shifts into doctor mode once again, as if she hadn¡¯t missed a beat. For better or worse, she can really turn on a dime. She calls an assistant to grab another wooden flask, as well as a second, larger flask with a dowel poking out. ¡°I need you to drink this potion for me. If you drink it, you can have some honey.¡± Krasa emphasizes the last part, as if she were dangling a tantalizing reward in front of a child. Condescending me, you damn crybaby? I¡¯m too tired to care. The part of me that feels dread is already asleep. I just want to get this over with. ¡°Is that okay?¡± I¡¯m pretty sure I don¡¯t have a choice in this matter. ¡°Uh, yeah, whatever.¡± I brace myself to be force fed the bitter drink. ¡°Make sure to drink it all.¡± The little doctor gently places the wooden flask in my hands. Well, that¡¯s a pleasant surprise. I sit up, looking down at her for a moment. For a doctor, she doesn¡¯t look particularly well herself. I try and ignore that fact as I cautiously hold the flask up to my lips. Here goes nothing. I gulp down the foul solution, trying not to taste it. Krasa stirs the dowel in the other flask before holding it up towards me. The tip of the dowel is covered in a glob of reddish goop forming droplets in slow motion. It moves like honey, but looks closer to blood. ¡°Here!¡± Krasa presents the stick to me as if it was solid gold. Is this my reward? It¡¯s humiliating. I unceremoniously shove the goop into my mouth. The assistants all watch me like a pack of dogs. Even Krasa seems preposterously fascinated. I guess they must really like this stuff, whatever it is. It tastes sweet. What do you know- it is honey! It¡¯s just regular honey, but it¡¯s still quite a pleasant surprise. I return the stick to her and fall back onto the table. I stare at the ceiling, drowsy and numb. I can barely move my eyelids. The speech of the girls around me slowly turns to meaningless noise. Agnis is asking Krasa all kinds of questions. ¡°Krasa, do you know what¡¯s wrong with¡­¡± ¡°I don¡¯t¡­ shoulder¡­ comes first¡­¡± ¡°You¡­ even though¡­¡± ¡°Never¡­ before¡­¡± I watch with glazed eyes as the little doctor spreads a thick, clear substance around the wound in my shoulder. There is sharp pain, but it¡¯s so deep down I can barely make it out. There is terror in my mind, but it¡¯s so far away I can barely hear it. Krasa says something. Her assistants gather around, holding my body in place again. Krasa is preparing something. There is an ocean between me and the ceiling. Krasa begins cutting at my shoulder with an extremely slender knife, a long sliver with a tiny point. It hurts, but I can¡¯t seem to muster any reaction. Somehow, I can¡¯t be bothered to care about my own body anymore. Krasa grabs the wooden rod sticking out of my shoulder at its base. Lights flicker from somewhere in my chest, as if I had swallowed a torch. It hurts, but I don¡¯t seem to mind. She begins to pull upward. The arrowhead shreds the flesh of my shoulder. Pain. Screaming pain that could make you run away at the speed of sound. But I can barely perceive it as I sink deep beneath the silent waves. I am so very far away. I groggily open my eyes. My brain feels sticky. I¡¯m sweaty and cold, and my bones hurt from laying on this hard floor. It¡¯s eerily quiet. There is no wood creaking, or crashing waves, just the tiny whirr of the space heater, and the faint echoes of the Discovery channel playing in the kitchen. I sit up. I¡¯m in my room. A Marionette in My Home I¡¯m here! I¡¯m in my room! My crappy room. My messy, stuffy, lonely room! Thank God, heaven, and the stars! It was just a dream! Phew, what a weirdly vivid dream that was¡­ I totally thought it was real, too. I must actually be sick¡­ ¡°Alex?¡± my sister¡¯s muffled voice trickles through the door from the hall. Lana! God, am I ever happy to hear that voice! After that awful nightmare, I¡¯m reminded just how much I take my life for granted. I can hardly believe I was so worried about¡­ like, what? Band practice? What some trombone players would think of me? All those things seem unfathomably miniscule to me now. I want to give Lana a hug. A big one. Hell, I could squeeze her till her eyes pop out! ¡­But it¡¯s not a good time to see her. ¡°Lana¡­ Don¡¯t come in. I¡¯m sick.¡± ¡°I know, Mom told me.¡± ¡°Sorry.¡± ¡°Sorry for what? Being sick? Don¡¯t be silly.¡± ¡°I guess I shouldn¡¯t be¡­¡± ¡°It¡¯s not your fault, right? ¡°I guess not¡­ ¡°You didn¡¯t lick the toilets at school, right?¡± ¡°Nuh- Whu- No!?¡± I¡¯m caught in a fit of chuckling and coughing over her wild question. ¡°So it¡¯s not your fault!¡± She laughs, ¡°Anyways¡­¡± ¡°Yeah?¡± I already know what she¡¯ll say next. This is the standard procedure: Since I¡¯m sick, she¡¯s going to stay at Dad¡¯s so she doesn¡¯t catch my cold. Even four years after Lana¡¯s full remission, Mom is still really touchy about her getting sick. I have no doubt that she¡¯s already wearing an N95 mask behind that door for Mom¡¯s sake. ¡°Better safe than sorry¡± as they say. Lana confirms my hunch. ¡°So¡­ Me and Dad are going to be staying at his place for a while.¡± ¡°I know Mom is making you. She''s such a witch about this stuff!¡± ¡°Cmon Alex, it¡¯s fine! I don¡¯t mind at all.¡± ¡°What? No! It''s not fair. I should be the one going over there, if anything.¡± ¡°Alex, it¡¯s you that needs taking care of, not me!¡± Lana retorts, chuckling, ¡°If you feel that bad about it, then, y¡¯know¡­ get better!¡± ¡°...Well, I¡¯ll try.¡± ¡°Anyways, there¡¯s dinner for you. I¡¯ll leave it out here.¡± ¡°Thanks.¡± I croak, punctuating our conversation with a loud cough. ¡°See you later, Alex.¡± Wait, could we chat for a little longer? is what I want to say to her, but the words don¡¯t leave my lips. I say nothing, sitting there on the floor. I don¡¯t know why. In my head, there¡¯s a restless energy. My desire to embrace my own life feels revitalized. I want to chat with my sister for hours, to text all my friends, to doodle in my sketchbook, even to sing in the shower. Despite all this, I just keep sitting there for a while, doing nothing. It¡¯s like my body isn¡¯t responding to my mind at all. This cold is awful, I can¡¯t remember ever feeling like this before. I chalk it up to brain fog. Eventually, I get up and retrieve my dinner from behind the door. It¡¯s a bit cold by now, and despite my newfound appreciation for life, my stomach has other plans. I eat a portion of it before making the regrettable discovery that I can¡¯t keep it down. The uneaten half ends up scraped off my plate to the bottom of my trash can with the ¡­eaten half. I put on my tennis shoes to sneak out back and dispose of the stinking bag without alerting Mom. If she sees this, she¡¯ll have a cow. Obviously, she¡¯s very sensitive about either of her kids being sick, not just Lana. It¡¯s kind of embarrassing, I guess. So it¡¯s better if I don¡¯t have to involve her. As I lift the bag out from my trash can, there¡¯s a knock at my door. Crap! Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. ¡°Can I come in, honey?¡± ¡°No.¡± An involuntary response springs from me. ¡°Hm? Alex, are you okay, honey?¡± ¡°It¡¯s just a cold. I¡¯m fine.¡± ¡°Can I come in?¡± ¡°No.¡± I say again, just as automatically as the first time. ¡°...Can we talk just like this?¡± I carefully attempt to squeeze the trash back back down into the can without it making a sound. Now, Mom¡¯s muffled voice sounds like it¡¯s right against the door. ¡°Lana is going to be staying with Dad for a little while. Did she tell you?¡± I want to answer, but I say nothing. Mom pauses for a moment. ¡°...I can tell you¡¯re upset. Would you like to tell me about it?¡± Part of me really does want to talk to her, but I say nothing. ¡°You had something important to do at practice, right? I¡¯m sorry.¡± I want to tell her that it¡¯s okay, but I say nothing. My silence seems to bite at her. ¡°...I know it must be annoying for you that I get this way. I just¡­ When we almost lost your sister¡­¡± She trails off. I want to comfort her, to tell her that I¡¯m not upset, that there¡¯s nothing wrong with her. Still, I say nothing. ¡°Both of you, you¡¯re my favorite people in the whole world. I don¡¯t know what I would do¡­ without¡­¡± she clams up, unable to finish the sentence. The vivid pain and fear of the dream flash through my mind. If that had happened in real life, would I have died? Would I ever see Lana again? Would I ever see mom again? I feel tears welling up. I want to tell her how much I love her, but still, I say nothing. ¡°I¡¯m sorry that I overreact sometimes. I just¡­¡± I don¡¯t understand what¡¯s happening. It¡¯s like I¡¯m paralyzed. I can¡¯t bring myself to say anything. I¡¯m begging my lips to open, for the words I need to say to come out. But as I finally turn toward the door, something horrible happens. ¡°I just can¡¯t let anything happen to you. Alex, you¡¯re-¡± ¡°Fuck! Just listen to yourself! You can¡¯t let anything happen to me? I know! You don¡¯t let anything happen to me! Nothing!¡± I shout at her, unable to stop myself. ¡°That¡¯s why I don¡¯t do anything! Nobody respects me! Girls don¡¯t know I exist! I don¡¯t get invited to hang out. I don¡¯t have cool stories. I don¡¯t have fun. I¡¯ve never even been on a date! Why do people treat me like a loser? Because YOU still insist on treating me like a baby when I¡¯m already an adult! THAT¡¯S why!¡± ¡°Alex! That''s¡­¡± She¡¯s at a loss for words. I look on in horror, desperately trying to stop myself, to hold my tongue, to apologize. I can¡¯t even raise my hands to cover my mouth. My mind is flailing for the reins of my body, but it¡¯s not in control at all. I feel my tongue moving to form words that I don¡¯t mean in the slightest. It¡¯s an uncanny and nauseating sensation. It¡¯s my body, but it''s not me. I am held captive in a stranger¡¯s skull as their tirade continues in my own voice. ¡°No! I know your angle, so don¡¯t even start! Stop trying to guilt trip me about Lana! You always try to use her! She hasn¡¯t been sick since Elementary school, goddamn it! You just use your emotions as a shield so you can keep me in a box! You don¡¯t want me or Lana to grow up, because when we do, your precious little babies won¡¯t have to listen to you nagging them about everything and making them follow all these fucking rules!¡± ¡°Alex, you know that¡¯s not true! I¡¯m sorry that I upset you, but that doesn¡¯t mean-¡± ¡°Shut up! I¡¯m sick of it! I¡¯m sick of talking to you so you can guilt trip me and police my life! Yeah, yeah, I¡¯m sick, I know. I¡¯m staying home like you wanted. That¡¯s fine. I do what you ask and I follow your rules. Isn¡¯t that enough? Why do you have to come act all sorry and tell me you want to talk? You think you¡¯re being nice? I don¡¯t want to talk because you don¡¯t want to talk! You don¡¯t care about what I think! You only want to interrogate me so you can suck even more of anything that¡¯s good out of my life. And using Lana as your shield? That¡¯s the bullshit that¡¯s really upsetting me!¡± Air gets caught in my throat. I cough and hack into my sleeve. The coughs erupt from me just as involuntary as the words that preceded it. There is a long, anxious silence that follows. ¡°Alex¡­ if you need some time to yourself, then that¡¯s okay. I just¡­ Sorry. Just make sure to get enough rest. I love you.¡± Her footsteps pat down the hall delicately. There are tears in my eyes, but are they really mine? Are they the tears of being unable to reach out to someone hurting when they need you the most? Are they the tears of attacking someone you so desperately want to comfort? Or are they the bitter tears of the raging stranger puppeteering around my body? Why is this happening to me? It''s 10 at night. I toss out the vomit, brush my teeth, and go to bed early. Maybe things will make sense in the morning. Im Trapped Through the night, I toss and turn. I¡¯m too exhausted to wake up, but I''m never asleep for long either. My body aches all over and I can¡¯t seem to find a comfortable position. It feels like my bed is swinging from side to side. As my stomach grumbles and twists, I hear pipes groan and creak along with it, almost as if the halls of my house were the guts of some gigantic creature. The more restless and agitated I grow, the harder my bed, and the more itchy my covers. At one point, I can hear my mother come to the door to check on me. I hold still and breathe slowly, pretending to be more than just lightly snoozing. She comes to my side. It¡¯s quiet for a while. She¡¯s sitting in my chair, I think. She¡¯s probably too worried to sleep much. I can¡¯t blame her after hearing that awful rant. What was that? In my drowsy delirium, I can¡¯t muster a single complete thought about it. Either way, it¡¯s definitely troubling. I hear something. Is¡­ is she crying? Oh, God. I clench my eyes shut, willing my body to shrink away under my covers, as if there were a drain at the foot of my bed, I a puddle of water funneling down into it. At some point, the sheer force of exhaustion supersedes any sense of comfort, and I finally plummet into oblivion. I rub at my crusty eyes. I¡¯ve been sleeping for a long time. I unleash a long, low yawn, pushing my toes a mile away from my shoulders. My tender muscles shudder as I squeeze myself out into a human javelin. I hear my Mom say something. Whatever, I¡¯m not going to school anyways. I roll onto my side. ¡°Agh!¡± My body jolts in pain. My shoulder feels awful, like it¡¯s covered in barbed wire. I open my eyes. An unfamiliar room. My stomach drops. Rough wood walls surround me. The room is dark, save for the hazy light bleeding in through the open door. My shoulder is wrapped in many layers of a light cloth, stained with the deep, dark red of dried blood. ¡°Don¡¯t move like that.¡± Says the woman sitting in the corner. She quickly steps to the side of the bed. There is no mistake. It¡¯s her again. Agnis. ¡°No, no, no!¡± I groan. ¡°Is something wrong?¡± ¡°It was a dream. Just a dream. It has to be!¡± I moan, but my gut is churning with the possibility that the opposite is true. ¡°I told you, don¡¯t move like that!¡± The woman places her hand onto my bare shoulder. Her name is Agnis. No it¡¯s not. She doesn¡¯t have a name. She¡¯s not real. This is just a dream. It has to be. ¡°This isn¡¯t real! This is just a stupid dream!¡± I yell, batting her hand away. ¡°Stop it! Calm down!¡± Agnis looks down at her hand, cradling it tenderly. Laying back onto the stiff bed, I shut my eyes. If you know you¡¯re dreaming, then that¡¯s just a lucid dream, right? If it¡¯s a lucid dream, I should be able to control it. Yes! Since I know I¡¯m dreaming, I can dream about whatever I want! I can be anyone, anywhere, and do anything I want. I focus my mind. I try to conjure up a palace in the sky, great towers of marble rising out of the clouds. Palace, palace, palace. I concentrate with all my might, but I don¡¯t see anything. I open my eyes. The same dim chamber as before still surrounds me without any hint of marble. ¡°You need to eat. Take this.¡± Agnis holds out a wooden bowl of some creamy substance. I sit up. Wordlessly glaring at her, I try to make her clothes vanish. This is my dream. I control it. You are naked. You are nude. You are ¡­nothing happens, no matter how much I will it to. ¡°Well, if you can¡¯t do it yourself, then I¡¯ll have to feed you.¡± Agnis scoops a spoonful of the solution and holds it out towards me. ¡°Open your mouth.¡± She instructs. With a single swipe of my arm, I knock the spoon and bowl out of her hands. The bowl rolls across the floor, a trail of goo leading away from a puddle where most of it splattered on the floor. ¡°Pak! What gisch!? Sybil!¡± Agnis fires off a barrage of curses, looking down at her soiled robes. ¡°Aha! It¡¯s working!¡± I exclaim. Yes, I¡¯m finally controlling my dream! The unusual strength I just demonstrated is proof of it. I can do anything I want, I just need to act on it! Thinking isn¡¯t enough, clearly. That¡¯s why nothing was happening. I don¡¯t need to sit here and think, all I need to do is manifest my wishes through my actions! If I want a palace in the sky, all I have to do is get up and go there! Better yet, I¡¯m going home! I swing my legs over the side of the bed. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. ¡°You¡¯ll hurt yourself! Lay down!¡± Agnis panics, clearly afraid of the omnipotent power I now wield. If this mere figment of my imagination wants to stop me, she¡¯s in for a harsh reckoning. ¡°I am in control now. Take off your clothes.¡± I command. ¡°Huuuh!?¡± Agnis¡¯ jaw drops. ¡°Hmm. If speaking doesn¡¯t work, then I¡¯ll just have to do¡­ THIS!¡± I spring forward, grabbing a fistful of her robes. ¡°Stop! What are you¡­¡± Agnis¡¯ voice evaporates, her face turning red. As I stand, the covers which had rested atop me slip down, falling to my feet. Agnis¡¯ eyes dart away nervously. I glance down at myself. No pajamas. I¡¯m naked. I¡¯m butt-naked! On reflex, I cover my crotch with my other hand. I try to, but I can¡¯t. Something is wrong. My other hand won¡¯t move at all. No matter how much I force it. Why? If this is my dream, why can¡¯t I move my arm? I let go of Agnis, who tumbles back onto her behind. With that hand free, I cover my crotch. The other is just¡­ stuck. I have no power to move it. I look down at myself. I want to cover what I see, but my other arm won¡¯t move even an inch. My naked torso stares back at me. There are burns all along it. In places, the flesh looks melted. I want it to go away, but my arm doesn¡¯t move. There are scars and scabbed up wounds too. But that¡¯s not what I see. When I look down at the large exposed breasts, the tender skin, and the cold, trembling muscles, there is one resounding, earsplitting truth that rings through my mind. This isn¡¯t my body. I can¡¯t hide it. I can¡¯t leave it. My real body is nowhere to be found. My flesh is ravaged. My arm is paralyzed. My body is someone else¡¯s, and someone else¡¯s body is mine. This isn¡¯t a dream. I¡¯m so stupid. Of course this is real. This is nothing like a dream. What I just woke up from, my room, my sister, my mom, that was the dream. God, oh god. I¡¯m stuck here. I¡¯m going to die here. Someone else comes into the room, but I barely notice. The room is fuzzy and disconnected from me. All I can see is this hideous body below my neck. My heart races and my feet go numb. I fall back onto the stiff bed. I can¡¯t breathe. Somebody is yelling something. What¡¯s happening to me? Somebody dashes out the door. Who? I look over to see that awful woman still slumped on the floor where I left her. She glares at me with fear. She¡¯s shouting something at me in that damned nonsense language. I can¡¯t understand it anymore. I can¡¯t breathe. I reach for my heaving chest, but recoil in shock, feeling swollen lumps of fat that aren¡¯t mine. My chest is not here, only this stranger¡¯s. The woman jumps up from the floor, berating me. She closes in on me, and the whole room closes in with her. I collapse onto the bed, a terrified corpse. I can¡¯t see anything, just the storm of darkness in front of me. My erratic heartbeat engulfs the entire room, burying me in a pounding torrent of hammers. The woman tackles me. I can¡¯t breathe. This isn¡¯t the sound of fear, this is the sound of death, swallowing me whole. Nobody who hears this sound lives to tell the tale. But as I¡¯m about to breathe my last, somewhere in the suffocating tangle of darkness, there is a different sound. A tiny, soft sound, like a flute being played on a distant mountain. Delicate music drifts over me. The song of a single voice. It¡¯s a sweet, gentle voice. The voice a mother uses to soothe her baby. Like a flickering candle in a pitch-black cavern, I cling to that voice. I follow its melody with my whole being, pulled along in a hypnotic trance. I feel a warmth spreading over me. The song flows without stopping, smoothly rising and falling like the limbs of a swaying tree. Still panting, heart pounding, limbs tingling, I begin to slowly return from the brink. As my surroundings gradually return, I witness the source of the warm sensation on my chest. Pressing her head into my breast, Agnis lays across my heart, quietly singing. It¡¯s a song I¡¯ve never heard, but it feels like a lullaby. Her face is so close, still very flushed, her eyes squeezed shut in an uncharacteristically sheepish expression. My breathing slows. My heart, still racing, becomes calmer, watching her curled up beside me. I feel so very lost, so hopeless and broken, and yet¡­ I¡¯m not alone. My eyes water as Agnis continues to sing, stroking my arm. I have no words, so I just sniffle in between deep breaths. I don¡¯t know how long we laid there. Even after my body had calmed down, we stayed like that. At one point, some girl appeared in the doorway, but, seeing the two of us, immediately left, quietly closing the door behind her. It was probably one of those doctor kids, but I didn¡¯t really see. To be honest, I couldn¡¯t take my eyes off of Agnis¡¯ face. The way her blush dappled her cheekbones like a thousand tiny rose petals, that image still sticks in my mind. Before, her face had been flushed with anger, or red with embarrassment, but this shade was completely new. No, she wasn¡¯t flustered. Any nervous tension in Agnis¡¯ expression had now relaxed into sanguine calmness. That unassuming peace was just what I needed, and it felt so natural. It seemed like our breathing and heartbeats were synchronized as one. It was so warm, I didn¡¯t want it to end. Eventually, Agnis¡¯ humming concluded, and she opened her eyes. Suddenly face to face with those arresting indigo eyes, my cheeks were hot. They¡¯re such a deep, dark, shade of blue that I can¡¯t believe they¡¯re real. ¡°Sybil?¡± She looks directly into my eyes with a compassionate expression, ¡°Are you better now?¡± ¡°...What does that mean?¡± ¡°Hm? What do you not understand?¡± ¡°Sib-ill¡± I pronounce, ¡°What is that?¡± Agnis looks at me with pity. I didn¡¯t know she could even make such a face. ¡°That¡¯s¡­¡± She speaks in a low tone, ¡°It¡¯s your name.¡± Silence. She looks away. ¡°...Sorry,¡± I sniffle, ¡°I¡¯m a bit lost.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry. You¡¯ll survive.¡± Suddenly, a powerful voice explodes from the door. ¡°What in the mother¡¯s name are you DOING? Are you trying to conceive a child?¡± Caught in the Act A booming voice interrupts us. ¡°What in the mother¡¯s name are you DOING? Are you trying to conceive a child?!¡± Agnis springs off of me in surprise. A large, stocky woman with bedazzled in extravagant gold jewelry blocks the doorway. Her skin is tanned and leathery, her hair graying, and her eyes filled with wrath. Feeling apprehensive, I grope around with my working arm for a loose sheet to cover my nudity. ¡°Conceive a-?¡± Agnis shakes her head in disbelief, ¡°What are you saying?!¡± ¡°I am aware that you have a fancy for Sybil, but, using the doctor¡¯s lodging for your own carnal relief?¡± The thundering woman presses her plump fingers into her brow in disappointment. I¡¯m too stunned to speak. Agnis hops off of the bed. ¡°Wha-? I¡¯m telling you, it¡¯s nothing like that!¡± Agnis¡¯ indignant face burns red. ¡°Letting your urges lead you around like this, it¡¯s disgusting! I ought to beat some sense into you, girl.¡± ¡°No! You have it all wrong. I don¡¯t know what you think you saw, but we weren¡¯t doing anything indecent!¡± ¡°Oh? You accidentally slipped into bed? Forgot to wear clothes? Don¡¯t lie to me!¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t say that! And I am wearing clothes! And- Pak!¡± Agnis gathers her wits. ¡°Sybil is Krasa¡¯s patient!¡± ¡°Patient? That¡¯s no patient. Stop yelling profanities and listen to-¡± ¡°YOU¡¯RE not listening, you raving bull!¡± Agnis steps forward, gesturing back at me with a swing of her arm. ¡°Sybil is hurt! Is it a crime to render aid to the wounded?¡± The agitated woman glares at me with revulsion. After a moment, she sighs, changing her tone. ¡°Agnis, that thing is not to be trusted, let alone nursed. You¡¯ve been tricked.¡± The woman¡¯s tone grows macabre. Agnis glances back at me, confused. ¡°...What?! You mean Sybil? Don¡¯t call her a ¡®thing¡¯!¡± ¡°That isn¡¯t Sybil. Sybil is dead, and you know it.¡± Agnis gasps. ¡°She¡¯s right here! She¡¯s not dead!¡± ¡°You saw the body up close. Don¡¯t deceive yourself.¡± ¡°I- I¡¯m not a doctor! I was mistaken! Even Krasa made the wrong call! Look, Sybil is alright now, she¡¯s going to live!¡± Agnis gestures to me, forcing a pained smile. ¡°All I see is an empty shell.¡± The grizzled woman growls, ¡°Iternians don¡¯t come back from the dead, Agnis! That¡­ is nothing but a hollow creature of void.¡± The woman¡¯s esoteric statements sound more like poetry to me than meaningful arguments, but Agnis¡¯ grave expression says otherwise. ¡°You can¡¯t be serious!¡± ¡°Of course I am! You know even better than I do. That thing-¡± She points at me with disgust, ¡°is something else living in Sybil¡¯s body.¡± I swallow, shrinking in place. The woman steps toward Agnis. She accidentally kicks the fallen bowl of goop as she steps forward. Looking down at it, she grimaces. ¡°Waste of food¡­ Lovely. Care to explain what happened here?¡± ¡°She¡­ I mean, I¡­ I just-¡± Agnis crosses her arms, looking away. The graying woman scoffs, not bothering to hear Agnis¡¯ excuse. ¡°No more lies. Agnis, you cannot close your eyes to this. Sybil is gone, and whatever has replaced her is not one of us.¡± She steps even closer to Agnis, almost on top of her. I can¡¯t even look at her. ¡°You¡¯re jumping to conclusions! She¡¯s just¡­ sick! She¡¯s sick right now! ¡± Agnis shouts at the floor. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. ¡°How many times must I say it? Don¡¯t lie to me! What a poor excuse. She¡¯s sick? Really? Does that explain speaking in tongues? Her new personality? Forgetting her own sister¡¯s face? I heard about it all.¡± ¡°That¡­ idiot meathead¡­¡± Agnis mutters to herself. ¡°You¡¯re not a doctor, but you still think you can explain this all away with sickness! Well, can you?¡± the imposing woman growls. Agnis steps back, bumping into the table beside my bed. ¡°You know that Sybil is gone.¡± She addresses Agnis in a whisper, loud enough for me to hear. ¡°That¡¯s why you were crying last night, because she¡¯s gone and you know she¡¯s never coming back.¡± Agnis is voiceless, cowering further away from the browbeating woman. Cornered by the massive ogress, she looks so very small. I can¡¯t bear it. Not for a second longer. I stand. Our eyes meet. ¡°My, you uncultured lout¡­ I¡¯ll take you down here if you wish!¡± The woman grins at me with violence in her eyes. ¡°Sybil! No!¡± Agnis cries from behind me. So there I am, squared up against this bulky crone; she, clad in dazzling gold and silken robes; I, completely nude, save for the bandage around my shoulder. If I was thinking straight, I probably would have found it deeply embarrassing. ¡°Leave her alone, you old cow! Who are you to act like you know everything? Take your nonsense somewhere else!¡± I shout. My words leave the woman speechless. Agnis, on the other hand, evacuates the air from her lungs with a ghastly squeal, as if her soul had left her body. I glance back. She¡¯s turned a brilliant red color and looks about ready to kill me. ¡°SYBIL! DON¡¯T!¡± Agnis wheezes with painful embarrassment, ¡°PLEASE!¡± Her voice comes out in a tiny, strained rasp, as if she were being choked. She doesn¡¯t seem very grateful to have me standing up for her¡­ ¡°Why, you¡­ You unholy brute!¡± Just as my focus returns forward, the woman slams her fat fist into my jaw. It doesn¡¯t connect. I flinch away, and the impact lands on the crest of my cheek. She¡¯s not messing around. I feel slightly light-headed, but I swallow the pain. I swing my right arm, but before it can go anywhere, Agnis catches it, hugging her arms around it. ¡°Don¡¯t fight her! You CAN¡¯T!¡± Agnis begs, ¡°It¡¯s ARKODA!¡± ¡°What? What do you mea-?¡± The woman¡¯s fist slams into my nose, cutting me off. I can taste iron. ¡°Let go!¡± I cough. I don¡¯t want to knock Agnis down, but I can¡¯t get my arm free otherwise. ¡°She¡¯s my MOTHER!¡± Agnis cries. I gasp, blood rolling down over my lips. The massive woman is ready to swing again, but stops. Agnis has thrown herself in front of me. My opponent is reluctant to swing at her own daughter. ¡°Don¡¯t fight! You don¡¯t have to fight¡± Agnis begs, in humbled despair. Arkoda frowns. ¡°Get out of the way! I will finish this monster!¡± ¡°She¡¯s not a monster!¡± ¡°You still doubt me?! Are you blind?! She¡¯s behaving like a wild animal!¡± ¡°Sybil is just confused! She only wanted to help me!¡± ¡°Agnis, may the Mother help me! If I must, I will beat you too! Leave us! Now!¡± It was right then that Krasa lunged through the doorway. She must have heard the commotion from another room, but I sincerely doubt she was expecting what she saw now. Like a wind up toy wound to the point of breaking, the precocious little doctor trembles, waving her arms as she speaks in fast-forward. ¡°What? Naja Arkoda? What¡¯s going on?! Is Sybil okay? Is everyone okay? Naja Agnis? What¡¯s wrong?¡± She babbles, the bags under her eyes only making them look more huge and panicked. ¡°Stay back¡­ I¡¯m being attacked by the undead.¡± Arkoda snarls, not taking her eyes off me. Krasa looks at me, jumping at the sight of the blood trickling down my chin. ¡°Eek! Wait! Stop! Sybil shouldn¡¯t be out of bed! Did you say that she attacked you? Did she really attack you? What happened? What¡¯s going on?¡± Arkoda doesn¡¯t answer. Despite the young doctor¡¯s wishes, it seems Arkoda is set on fighting her patient, even as Krasa stands only a few meters away. ¡°She started i-¡± I groan, but I¡¯m knocked sideways before my lips can close. As it turns out, Agnis just isn¡¯t quite tall enough to fully block me, and Arkoda decided to let me know with a quick left hook, swinging clear over Agnis¡¯ head. Her strike nailed me in the temple like an ice pick. The room sways. I stumble sideways, bumping into the hard edge of the bed, catching myself as I slump down to my knee. Agnis turns to me, her face showing a mixture of conflicted woes. She wraps her body over me, squeezing her head against my own, anxiously jamming her eyes shut in anticipation of another punch from Arkoda. ¡°WAIT!¡± Krasa shrieks. ¡°Huh?!¡± With a thud, Krasa throws herself to the floor. ¡°Stand back, I said!¡± Arkoda shouts, repelled by Krasa¡¯s manic motion. ¡°Wait, wait, please!¡± Krasa wails, groveling at Arkoda¡¯s feet, ¡°Please, oh please, pardon me for this indiscretion! I must speak, or I will regret it for eternity! Put me to death if you wish! There is something I must tell you!¡± ¡°Hmm?¡± Arkoda is taken off guard by Krasa¡¯s weighty declarations. She steps back, dropping her hands to her side. ¡°Fine then. Speak.¡± Krasa shudders, prostrate on the floor.