St Mungo's || Elena & Mulciber
The tension in his body, the strain of his muscles the clenching of his fitsts, was causing him more pain than his actual condition. But then again, it was the reason for his stay, wasn’t it? Mulciber would have laughed if he had his privacy, if he wasn’t lying in a bed right now, his life in the hands of some healer bitch.
Though he was fully clothed, and his body was covered in a blanket, the young man felt thoroughly exposed, in a way that was ten times more intrusive than if he had simply been naked. He was being made unnaturally aware of his own matter, not through his own pain, but her presence.
Every sensation hurt. The air was cold against his bare skin, the fabric of the blanket roughly scratching against him, as he simply laid there, trying not to fall together. He knew that his muscles were tired, that the situation would become much easier for him to bare, if only he allowed himself to let go of his tension, and let the pain fade into numbness.
Letting himself relax was not an option.
He would have rather he snuffed it right there, than give in.
His face almost threatened to betray his intention, yet his will was stronger, if only by a fraction, and what had almost been an expression of the pain he felt, turned into a fierce glare. He forced himself to put his focus on the woman, as though trying to strike her down with the hatred in his gaze.
”No”, he said, between gritted teeth, “I don’t need anything. When can I leave?”
There was fight in the young man. Elena had seen the same sort of fire in others facing chronic illness or debilitating disability, a stubborn determination to be more than what their feeble bodies had reduced them to be, but she had never observed anybody who fought fate as intensely as did her current patient. She could see his struggle in his tensed muscles and gritted teeth, could hear it rasping in his voice.
If intent equalled strength, Mr Mulciber would be a formidable opponent indeed. And yet, despite his spirit, he was weak, almost pathetic, confined to a hospital bed and utterly defenceless. Small and physically weak as Elena was, she could dispatch him without difficulty. No need even to resort to magic when a firm arm across the windpipe would do the job.
But then, she supposed, it was far easier for the man to continue to fool himself into believing that he had some degree of control over the present situation. People never were very good at facing their limitations.
She cast him a warm smile. “If all goes well, and you continue to maintain consciousness, we will feel comfortable releasing you tomorrow morning. There are additional tests we would like to conduct, if you will allow us. If not, we will simply continue to observe your condition as the night goes on.”
Tilting her head to one side, she asked, “Are you quite sure that you're all right, Mr Mulciber? You appear to be in a great deal of pain. I could bring you a potion to alleviate that, if you wish.”
