Mélanie could feel that she was somewhere soft and warm long before she had opened her eyes. Was she in heaven? Was she to meet God now? Would he admonish her for threatening to revoke her love and devotion for Him and cast her out into hell? Such fearful thoughts fluttered through her mind and caused nightmarish images to rise in her mind until she was whimpering and struggling against herself, wanting to escape from the prospect of her soul being damned to burn for all eternity. "There now, easy. There-there little one, you are safe here. I'll do you no harm, you have my word. Rest, just rest and regain your strength. You have been put through hell and come out still breathing, it shows you are very strong, child." Quelle est cette voix? Mélanie wondered blearily as the soft yet roughened sound of a male's voice drifted through her nightmares and distracted her into a daydream. Est-ce Dieu?
Suddenly a soothing and large hand came to rest upon her aching head and for a brief moment, Mélanie thought that it was her father's hand. Sniffling weakly, her hand tried to lift up in order to grasp hold of the hand that comforted her, whispering softly to call out to the one she thought was by her side. "Papa…papa…ça fait mal…" Blinking in surprise down at the child who was now mewling like a kitten whilst trying to paw at his hand, Achilles had to take a moment to gather his wits back to him for two reasons. Firstly because this child, as it appeared, was French, and secondly, because she had called him papa. A wash of memories overcame him, recalling every moment that his own son had called out to him affectionately, the brightness of his eyes, the deepness of his smile, and how all of it had been snatched away in a moment, like wrenching a knife from a wound that was left to scar and never truly heal.
Biting back the rising tide of emotion, Achilles masterfully held his voice in check as he answered, allowing the girl to take hold of his hand so that she might snuggle into it, burying her face into his palm which seemed to engulf her entirely. Here she settled and Achilles had not the heart to disturb her, for she was finally sleeping peacefully after a long night of fits and crying whilst still partially unconscious. Tonight was the night. The fever would either take hold completely or it would break, deciding whether or not this girl was to live or to die. "Do not be afraid child. It is alright to let go if that is what you want, there is no shame in wanting to end the pain. You have done well to hold on for as long as you have, but if you are willing to continue fighting, then I shall be here beside you." Achilles uttered many words of encouragement and comfort that night, watching the girl as she continued to have her weak frame ravaged by the fever and sickness. Her injuries had not been light, and the fever only made her overall physical condition worse. Her arm had been broken in two places so severely that Achilles had been able to see the bone before he snapped it back into place and set up a brace for her to wear. The bruises on her body meant that she was more black and blue rather than pink, with the additional scratches and splinters every which way and not to mention the mess she had made of her fingers. Some of the nails had been completely ripped away, and Achilles worried that some might never grow back. A silly thing to worry over in comparison to other troubles, in truth, but having become so utterly invested into the child's wellbeing, Achilles simply could not leave it alone. Perhaps she had come just before the true loneliness could settle in, having only been two years in self-isolation, and his lingering attachments for a human's natural longing for company had not yet been fully severed.
No matter what the truth, Achilles had decided on doing all that he could to heal the child to the best of his ability, at least until she was strong enough to manage a journey to Boston in order be seen by a doctor. After that he was uncertain of what to do with the child, but until then, he would continue what he had begun with the same dedication and attention as he had since the very beginning. He watched and waited in trepidation, feeling his heart plummet over every bead of sweat that glistened upon her head until eventually, despite his determination to stay up through the night, exhaustion won him over and his eyes pulled themselves shut. He slept deeply for a handful of hours, having not slept a single wink over the past few days in order to remain present to attend to the girl at all hours of the day but when sunlight broke through the smeared glass of the window and the waking cries of the gulls roused him as they did every morning, Achilles was immediately upright and looking fearfully at the child. She lay as he had last seen her, holding his hand against her face with her tiny paws gripped onto him. Her breaths were steady and deep, chest rising and falling with clear looking skin and a relaxed expression, almost peaceful. She was alive. She lived. She had survived something some men might even have succumbed to. Achilles exhaled with deep relief and almost wept for it, taking many heavy breaths as his head pressed itself into the bed whilst he knelt by the child's side. He had never been a godly man, but he praised the Lord for showing the girl His mercy, hoping that this would now mean that she was out of danger for good. Achilles stroked her hair, returning to his chair which he had fallen from out of shock to find her still breathing and a bare hint of a smile touched his face as she shifted, disturbed slightly by the motion but did not awaken. "Well done." He praised her heartily, for she deserved such commendation, and with a gentle pat to her frame Achilles covered her with a fresh blanket and bore the sweat ridden one away, readying to prepare another bath, fresh clothes and a hot meal for her to consume.
Quelle est cette voix – What is this voice?
Est-ce Dieu – Is it God?
Ça fait mal – It hurts
