Priscilla sat silently, and cursed the architecture of the Kingfisher, mentally throwing insults, for nobody should ever hear the screams of a child's last words. Everything that was whispered could be heard clear as day from the room atop hers, and subsequently convenient for her – the largest room of the tavern housed a Druidess. She accepted any person desperate enough to come knock on her door – usually it was curing a cold, stitching up a cut, tempering an antibiotics, though sometimes – such as tonight – there were certain despicable events that probably would be held within these walls for an eternity. Priscilla was a listener to a symphony of cries and groans, and if she didn't love Aspen an Craite, she was sure she would've relocated in a heartbeat.
But she loved her as her younger sister; Ever since Priscilla caught an extreme case of pneumonia and Aspen sat by her bed for almost two weeks straight.
"I don't want to die! I don't want to die!" Priscilla bit back her tongue, trying not to cry for the situation she just witnessed. Though she couldn't help it, and recoiled unwillingly at the contemplation of the summary of the events.
A boy, perhaps ten to twelve, his voice cracking, rushing in with his mother and father – they were from a farm on the outskirts of town, a monster... Priscilla remembered the father mentioning a wild wraith sabotaging their village – and a small whimper, so pitiful and reserved, if it weren't for the crashing of items of Aspen throwing off her table to make way for the boy, Priscilla would assume it were some type of minority of a infliction, it wasn't. Aspen continued her tirade into her manservant, Sven an Hindar, telling him specific herbs she has stored away in case of an emergency such as this, and finally, as several moments passed, and Sven returned with the herbs, the boy broke out into sobs, blood curdling sobs that shook the entire Kingfisher – then silence, eerily quietness so still, not a breath was heard above Priscilla. The boy's mother stifled back cries of her first born child, and Aspen remained in her place, hovering over the boy, Priscilla assumed. Aspen always had an immense attention to detail, and Priscilla imagined the Skelliger drawing every inch of his face to mind – a soul she undoubtedly lost.
Then apologizes were whispered, both from Sven and Aspen, and the couple broke. Humans break all the time in that room above Priscilla – it was a wonder how Aspen held her composure, herself. Priscilla wondered if that room housed ghosts – the souls of every broken person that Aspen couldn't help. Perhaps Aspen was the broken soul, the beautiful Skelliger wraith that haunted the third floor of the Kingfisher, with the solemn and terrifying man always casted in her shadow – watching her every move with calculating grey eyes that would perhaps devour her soul if given the chance.
Sven an Hindar was infatuated with the girl. It was clear to see from the moment you meet the duo – how his eyes watched her with the idolization of a child seeing the sun for the very first time, and Priscilla is exactly what she was describe his situation as – a vampire, finally allowed the ever giving warmth of the sun.
There was a knock on her door an hour later after the grievances above her dispersed, and after Priscilla sat up in her bed, clad in nothing but a nightgown, and hollered for them to come in groggily, in strode Aspen.
Ashen hair tousled down to her waist, large golden eyes that caused one to wonder how such a warm color could look so void like, and predictably her white dress was covered in blood – it was everywhere, from her torso to her knees, and especially her hands, caked in the boys remnants, if Priscilla was weak of stomach, she knew she would vomit her dinner from six hours ago. Though she wasn't, and only held her arms open for Aspen to run across her room and shatter. This is where Aspen an Craite came to break – in her arms.
"He was only nine …" She whispered between sobs into her chest, "his heart was already failing by the time I laid him on my table…" Priscilla shook her back and forth as she soothed her with a humming, "I had to give him an herb for a painless death, I didn't know what to do…" and Priscilla forgot, she always forgot that Aspen an Craite was only a child herself at the mere age of fifteen. She wasn't an experienced medic, or a sorceress, she was a girl – barely old enough to rent her own room let alone tend to deathly patients. Though she knew a druid's morals, always taking in the sick regardless if they were qualified enough. Sometimes Aspen found herself elbow deep in a person's chest with an acute knowledge of what to do, and sometimes in walked a diseased individual whom she knew no qualms how to treat, it was always a gamble – and the selfless (or rash) girl always accordingly had a response.
Though, Priscilla wondered if this was worth her teenage years.