Post by Prince Charming on Aug 12, 2020 21:55:36 GMT
(Two days after the events of Shattered Glass, open to all healers or volunteer aids to healers in the Enchanted Suns.)
”Kit.”
It wasn’t his father’s voice, but it was the beloved nickname. That, joined with her voice. The voice of his Ella.
”I’m here.”
But where was here? His consciousness seemed to float. It wasn’t the swaying and glimmering buoyancy of his first dance with her. Her eyes had been like the night sky, darkness turned to beautiful blue with the light of stars. He’d felt as if he were spinning in them.
Now, it was only a dizzy, endless twirling. He was seven again, when he’d fallen overboard on his father’s Royal Vessel and the world seemed nothing but turning, directionless void. And she was gone. Nothing was anywhere. Darkness.
”I’m alive...”
That meant she was somewhere. He could find her. He would, if he could only reach her. If she were safe, near enough to call out, all he had to do was—
”AH!”
No. He’d never heard that tone of anguish and pain from his wife before, and yet his heart seemed to collapse in on itself. That scream had been reverberating behind the matted dark hair for two days. It hurt worse than the pain he was gradually coming awake to between his shoulders, across his cheek, and through his stomach. She was hurt. She was in danger. He had to get to her—he couldn’t wait for her assurances to replay if they always ended in that scream.
The smothering darkness around him seemed thinner today. Christopher tossed in a bed in the Arendelle sickbay and finally managed to groan. He had to open his eyes. He had to get to her.
Finally, things blurred into view. He was on a cot. His white shirt was stained red, but that was only barely visible under swaths of clean cotton bandages. The room was quaint, fine unlike his own palace. It seemed more...rustic. The air was cold. Maybe that was because the fever hadn’t fully left.
“Ella...” The Prince tried to raise a hand to his head, but it couldn’t seem to find it’s way there. “Wh-where...where am I?”
”Kit.”
It wasn’t his father’s voice, but it was the beloved nickname. That, joined with her voice. The voice of his Ella.
”I’m here.”
But where was here? His consciousness seemed to float. It wasn’t the swaying and glimmering buoyancy of his first dance with her. Her eyes had been like the night sky, darkness turned to beautiful blue with the light of stars. He’d felt as if he were spinning in them.
Now, it was only a dizzy, endless twirling. He was seven again, when he’d fallen overboard on his father’s Royal Vessel and the world seemed nothing but turning, directionless void. And she was gone. Nothing was anywhere. Darkness.
”I’m alive...”
That meant she was somewhere. He could find her. He would, if he could only reach her. If she were safe, near enough to call out, all he had to do was—
”AH!”
No. He’d never heard that tone of anguish and pain from his wife before, and yet his heart seemed to collapse in on itself. That scream had been reverberating behind the matted dark hair for two days. It hurt worse than the pain he was gradually coming awake to between his shoulders, across his cheek, and through his stomach. She was hurt. She was in danger. He had to get to her—he couldn’t wait for her assurances to replay if they always ended in that scream.
The smothering darkness around him seemed thinner today. Christopher tossed in a bed in the Arendelle sickbay and finally managed to groan. He had to open his eyes. He had to get to her.
Finally, things blurred into view. He was on a cot. His white shirt was stained red, but that was only barely visible under swaths of clean cotton bandages. The room was quaint, fine unlike his own palace. It seemed more...rustic. The air was cold. Maybe that was because the fever hadn’t fully left.
“Ella...” The Prince tried to raise a hand to his head, but it couldn’t seem to find it’s way there. “Wh-where...where am I?”
