Sometimes the sympathetic pain was harder to bear than her own. At least with her own pain, there was a clear cause and effect – she knew what was wrong and why; how bad it was going to hurt and for how long. The pain she scryed was less…acute but more…insidious. It was a phantom at the edge of her senses with no cause, a tug at her heart without a name or a face.
Those were the nights Karasuma relented, the nights she loosened her collar and allowed Master to pour her another glass of anesthetic.
A/N: Written for Challenge #3 – Pain at the WHR Drabbles community on livejournal.