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. ❜
they’ve met like this once before , sort of ; this realm carries the same sensation of an unstable dream , two souls / two bodies , existing in a space both here and not here , ilya standing before asra with uncertainty swimming in the depths of coal irises , pupils beseeching answers asra has never been in a position to give . this time , however , he’s unaware of the question and that leaves him feeling rather uneasy .
❛ you met already ? ❜ he wishes he could say he’s surprised but ... he’s not , not entirely at least and there’s something uncomfortable about that , a twisting , turning , in his gut . there’s no scenario where this is nothing , if it were ilya would’ve already returned to them ------ but he hadn’t , hasn’t , he’s here and he’s thinking and ilyushka and thinking are two things that asra has found rarely mix together well . ❛ he should’ve answered your questions already ; he’s not nearly as round - about as some of the others . so whatever he said ... ❜
must’ve required a decision , he thinks but does not add . he knows this man and , unfortunately , cares for him enough to retain what he knows ; and what he knows ? what he is certain of ? that ilya will sooner swallow glass , burning coals , than take a step forward that was not on account of someone else dragging him there . but what the decision could’ve been ... he has some ideas . few are ones he’s particularly fond of . ❛ ... must’ve been a lot to consider . ❜ a nice way of putting it . he frowns . ❛ you’re out of time , ilya . do you know what you need to do ? ❜
