𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 … a private room, the healing halls, under the mountain 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 … azrael mazhar ( @azraehl )
hunger had gnawed at her belly as the overseer of the night court settled into place at the foot of his bed, insisted on being sated with the cold plate of food that had been replaced for her that evening, but all desire for sustenance or rest seemed to pale in comparison to the constant pain that had blossomed in her chest from the moment the attor had sunk its faebane tipped claws into his flesh ─ the feeling had dulled to a throbbing ache, mirroring the blood - soaked bandages that were wrapped around his torso to keep the still - healing wound clean as he laid motionless in the bed. duty to the night court had called her away from his side several times within the past three days as she had been called to appease the unsettled guests that had travelled with them to the sacred mountain, but amaris had said a prayer of thanks to the mother for seren as the two of them spent a protective vigil over their fallen high lord whenever time permitted, exchanging seats to get some rest or to show a brave face to the rest of court.
it was her turn to keep him company as the second in command cleaned up and got some much needed rest, so she forsook the uncomfortable chair by his bedside to nestle on the mattress itself, keeping her head propped with a stolen pillow as she watched the irregular rise and fall of his chest until her own eyes drifted shut, comforted by the mere presence of her brother in the same room. it was a fitful slumber, her brow furrowed at the slightest sound that dared to disturb the peace of the healing halls, but she was only forced awake by a sharp kick to the belly, the wind knocked out of her even as her eyes flew open. ❝ fuck ... did you just kick me, you dick ? ❞ the grumble was entirely that of a younger sister woken rudely from her rest but a sense of awareness overtook any residual sleepiness, pulling her into a seated position at the edge of the bed as she stared at him. her hands twitched, desperate to pull him into an embrace but she stilled, knowing her brother did not like touch and that he was likely in shock if the last thing he remembered as a sword shoved in his gut.
❝ azrael ... brother ... it is me. ❞ lifting her hands to the air, she presented her palms, still scarred by the faebane coated ropes that had imprisoned him all those years ago. ❝ az ... please ... you need to relax. your chest ... ❞ she could tackle him, if necessary, but that would open more the wound more.
