Here be part three. . . I hope you like it! . . . is it just me, or is the writing level going down? O.o;
Endetheme: Anesthesia
Act III: Book
There were a thousand books, stacked everywhere, with precarious organization and little thought to finding the books in the future. A solid two stories of bookshelves served as walls, the heavy oak wood carved into delicate lace patterns, and the backs of the half empty shelves were carved in a cascading motif of feathers. The floor made up for the lack of books on the shelves, and was covered in careless piles of books.
The windows near the top gave no light, the late hour and the clouded sky keeping even the moon and stars from casting their glow. The only light came from the dozen candles spaced throughout the room, their dim glow straining to reach the shadowy corners. A thousand shadows crisscrossed the floor, playing games in glee as they triumphed over the light, flickering darkly as the light grew weaker and weaker.
Even in Arinas, the death of the Dragon Clan and the loss of the fair folk resonated throughout the land. Even a continent controlled by demons was mourning the loss of its guardians.
A strange combination of cleared space and unusual clutter surrounded a sprawling, central desk, and half-a-dozen spent candle stubs were scattered about it. Books appeared to have been shoved off the surface of the desk, and they lay half-opened on the ground, pages crumpled and creased, among the candle stubs. Four stacks of books were piled at the side of the desk, and as one book was tossed off the desk, another book from the stacks would replace it. Opposite the neat stacks of books, a thick armchair faced the desk.
Kharl looks up from his book, staring at Kaistern's still form.
The man hadn't moved from where Kharl had positioned him. His arms still rested on the arms of the chair, his spine still curved against the back of the seat, his head still slumped into a corner of the chair. His white eyes were still closed, but it was just as well. The emptiness, the loneliness, the horror and guilt and grief that his white on white eyes would have revealed would not have brought him back to consciousness.
"Kaistern. . . ." Kharl breathed. "I'm trying. . . ."
He fell silent, staring at the man sitting in the chair. He was unable to tell Kaistern that, as the weeks past, he still searched for a cure, still searched for a way to break the barrier locking Kaistern's mind from the real world. Because he was afraid that speaking it would make it impossible, that to speak his deepest wish would render it beyond his grasp.
Kaistern did not move.
Kharl looked back down at his book.
- You're bleeding.-
-It's just a scratch, go back to your book.-
- You're . . . bleeding. . . .-
Pages blurred as the week without sleep sank deeper into his system, and Kharl rubbed his eyes. Deep circles met his cheekbone, and his face was raw and strained. Kharl's hands quivered as he moved to turn the page, and his joints creaked and groaned from the slight movement. He had not slept in a week. He had not eaten in three days. He had not moved from his chair at his desk unless to adjust Kaistern.
"Post traumatic stress. . . . I know that. I know that! I know that, Kaistern. But how to bring you back. . . ." The book flew off the desk, and Kharl opened the next. "Please, let me find a way. . . ."
A dissertation on the human mind, the effect of stressors on the psyche. Of a human.
"Body trauma, body trauma, who gives a damn!"
- Don't bleed, Kaistern. I fear I'll lose you again. . . .-
- Don't bleed.-
"Kharl-sama?"
The door opened, and Kharl slowly turned his head, his eyes wild.
"Gar . . . fakcy. . . . Do you need something?"
Garfakcy looked at him. "I don't think it's a matter of what I need, Kharl-sama," he said. His eyes flickered to the armchair, to the motionless man, and settled back on Kharl. "You should eat." He walked into the room, the tray in his arms filled with tea and cake. "You'll like it."
Kharl looked down at his desk as Garfakcy slid the tray there, moving the book back. The book dropped to the ground.
"Oh, I'll get that," Garfakcy said, and reached to pick up the book.
"It doesn't matter. It doesn't have anything. Nothing in this library will help."
"Kharl-sama. . . ." Garfakcy placed the book on the edge of the desk. "Can I do something to help?"
Kharl stared at the tea. "I read . . . somewhere . . . that familiar people . . . but there are no other familiar people."
"What about objects?"
"What?"
Garfakcy walked over to Kaistern's armchair, and stared at his empty face. "What if I brought some items from the Dragon Castle, ones belonging to his fellow Dragons." There was a bitter twist to Garfakcy's lips that Kharl ignored. "The necklace he gave the Dragon Lord, Rath's sword, and so forth."
Kharl stared at Kaistern's still form. "It couldn't hurt. . . ."
Garfakcy nodded. "I'll be back in a week at most. Nadil . . . Nadil's army tore the castle apart."
Kharl nodded, and turned back to his desk as Garfakcy left.
It could work. Having something of Rath's, of Lykouleon's, it could work.
"Please," Kharl said to Kaistern. "Let this work. Come back to me. I need you."
He stood slowly, and moved to kneel before the man. Hands clutching hands, Kharl rested his head against Kaistern. The man's body was slightly cool, and Kharl pressed closer to give his own warmth.
The book fell back off of the desk, and Kharl pulled Kaistern into his arms.
Their contact was warm and safe, and the comfort he obtained from just holding the man was the closest to peace he'd had in weeks.
But the embrace was protective, and how can a shadow protect a man?
Endetheme: Anesthesia
Act III: End