it’s been days since the execution . nadia was kind enough to postpone the masquerade but there’s a restlessness to not only her but everyone in the city as they await what they were promised to give / promised to have and he knows she can only bear to hold out another day , perhaps two if he begged on hands and knees . he won’t , he shouldn’t have to either assuming all goes according to plan and he likes to think it will , though given the extended absence … there’s a sinking feeling in his gut that perhaps the plan has already failed , or perhaps julian himself has thrown a wrench in it . asra is more than familiar with the way julian aches to kiss death’s lips and this time he may have really done it , on accident / on purpose / it doesn’t matter why , only if . only that he didn’t and asra can feel the realm pulling , tugging at his feet ; he takes a breath and calms himself . panic will swallow him whole here , he knows , and there’s no time for it .
he trudges onward , fingers curled around the strap of his bag as eyes scan the surrounding area , looking for a flash of red in a world dyed in it ; needle in a haystack , and he can’t say he’s thrilled about the challenge that poses . he could spend hours here , days , months … with no way of knowing how much time has passed and his only focus a man who may already be naught but bones / a man who never made it here at all .
he thinks julian is an idiot . he also thinks julian would agree with him .
❛ — ilya ? ❜ train of thought is derailed rapidly , the tracks cut in two as he catches sight of something tall and moving , bipedal , white shirt ; julian , because asra thanks his luck every day for being as kind to him as it is , and he has no doubt the look on his own face comes close to matching the startled expression that the doctor bears , though perhaps with more worry , agitation , than the gaze that looks back at him . ❛ there you are — it’s been days , we thought — ❜ you’d died . ❛ … never mind . what are you still doing here ? have you been looking for the hanged man this whole time ? ❜
time passed within this world at a snail’s pace, seconds, minutes, hours creeping by slowly; unmarked by either the low dipping of the sun or the responding rise of the moon : this was an immutable, deathless world. the vines and trees whispered with every slow turning of his paces, every time he sat down to bury his face in his hands, every heaving sigh that sent the hunch of his back lurching with shudders.
to think, once there was a time where he thought death a possible release from his burdens. now, it only seemingly burdened him further. return, and lose what made him useful ------ years of medical knowledge and hackneyed textbooks could only do so much. in the event of the plague’s return . . . and it would return, what good would it do to force oneself to simply watch it, knowing he’d given up the very curse that would have, could have, helped cure it ? he sat on his hands, and pondered, and thought.
what of asra ? or his apprentice ? portia, mazelinka, even the countess -- each of them flitted through his mind. he could only imagine what they might have said, what their opinions on the matter would have been. it struck julian that, in this moment, he desperately needed someone to tell him what to do; he didn’t know what to do when face with choice. it spurred him back and forth like a bird in its cage, unsettled, batting its wings against the bars.
perhaps the world responded to that desire, because within moments comes asra, floating through surroundings where julian had previously stumbled. ❛ asra ! ❜ the length of his strides depletes the distance between them in a matter of moments, and then he all but screeches to a halt. ❛ ah . . . days ? ❜ had it been that long ? how long ? how many days ?
his hands come up as though to touch asra, on instinct, before retreating quickly to fold over the front of his chest, lips pursing into a tight, distant scowl. asra had asked a question. ❛ ah, no. we met. i needed . . . i needed time. but maybe not that long of a time. ❜
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