Warnings: Mild gore.
Wound
Heket sat in the privacy of her chambers scowling at her reflection in the mirror, a hand going to her throat subconsciously. Her bandages had become heavily stained with blood and ichor, which meant it was once again time for them to be changed.
She hated it. She hated that it was still necessary even though years had passed since then. She hated what it represented; A wound that would not heal. A constant reminder of him, and what he had done, and what he had taken from them. But most of all she hated how it still made her feel; A weakness she could not overcome.
A knock on the door roused her from her thoughts and two of her daughters, Stefanie and Aubria stepped in after she had bid them enter. She watched their reflections bow to her in reverence. "Mother," they chorused. "We are here to change your bandages as ordered," Stefanie continued. They were both experienced with cleaning and dressing injuries – she had made sure of that – but this was their first time attending to hers.
"We will do our best, Mother," Aubria added, and she hummed and nodded simply in reply.
She closed her eyes, clasped her hands together in her lap and tried to relax as they carefully unwrapped her bandages. While significantly easier to do in the company of her children than her followers, she could not do so completely. Not for this.
They dabbed and wiped the wound still marring her throat as gently as they could to clean it, but still their actions generated lances of searing pain, and she winced and flinched with every touch of the wet cloth. "We're sorry, Mother," she heard Stefanie mumble apologetically.
The pain drags her back. She sees flashes of that day. Flashes of that moment. Tears well up in her eyes and run down her face as her breath quickens.
Narinder, his face contorted in hatred and rage, his scythe primed for a swing. She, raising her sickles to block his attack, but slowly, far too slowly.
Flesh yielding to Crown-forged steel. An explosion of pain. Blood gushing from her throat. She can't breathe. She can't scream. It hurts. It hurts. Her vision swims.
Something cool and soothing is applied to the wound. The pain fades. And so do the memories.
She opened her eyes, blinking away the last of her tears as she returned to the present. Stefanie and Aubria stared back looking anxious. In the mirror, her reflection was now wearing clean bandages, and beneath the dressing, a balm of camellia paste was dulling the pain. She touched the bandages with one hand and sighed, relieved that the ordeal was now over. "Mother…"
She turned to her attention to her daughters. If they were followers, she would now kill them for witnessing such a display of weakness, but they were her children, her family. Their love for her was unconditional and unending, so she could permit herself to be weak in their presence without fear of losing their devotion or respect. "These tears are not because of you, my daughters." Her voice was now a hoarse rasp after their administrations, and would remain so for the rest of the day – another reason she despised this so.
The tension and anxiety eased from their postures. "What happened, Mother?" Aubria ventured. "What caused such an injury?" Her traitorous eyes unexpectedly watered again and she hung her head. "Mother!" They exclaimed in concern and pressed forward to embrace her.
She reciprocated, drawing comfort from them for a change. Eventually she pulled away and stood. "Gather your siblings," she instructed. "It is time I told you all of the One Who Waits."
A/N: Once again their names are genus of frogs, though Stefanie's was altered from stefania.
