A Mentalist's Escape
Her right leg weighs more than it used to.
Senkha always forgets this until it's time to wake each morning, and then she only remembers because getting out of bed feels like a hangover. Gradually, it all comes back: the straps around her wrist and waist, the metal against her stockings, the sense of wrongness in the bones of that leg. When she remembers, Oliver is always there, handing her the cane and smiling, icy fingers helping her out of her nightdress and into robes.
She has been awake for one month.
How can I do nothing but sleep for two weeks straight and still feel so tired a month later?
When Senkha first woke, hours were precious. Her energy waned quickly, pooling downward and outward in an exhausting spiral. Every small thing took more effort than she remembered, even simple things like sitting up or speaking. Emotion made it worse. Emotion made her forget to breathe, as had the infection in her blood when Oliver first took her away from the cult. Her daughter was like quicksilver, heavy and sticky and choking (if beautiful). Anger--at herself, at her captors, her captors, her rescuers--was gaseous and acrid. Even happiness tightened like a noose.
Perhaps she should have left the recovery room more often. Perhaps the noose of happiness could have saved her from inhaling too much of anything else, but every time she woke, committees materialized by her sides and feet and talked until her eyes closed against her will and the nightmares came and stole away her rest. How much she wanted to see people! The ones who would understand, who wouldn't have to ask. Oliver (but he was there). Marius. Ziichi.
I want to see you. I don't know how to ask.
The back room was its own world, kept away from the rest. Everyone came back and used the room for everything, making all manner of noise as they did, but it was subdued and protected from any bad news or anything difficult. Whatever bad happened outside the room stayed far from the sunshine windows. Even in a month on the Quel'Talan, Senkha didn't know what was wrong in the Sigil, what dangers they faced, what troubles took place outside that back room door. Two days before she left, she got an inkling, and it sounded to her like parents talking about divorcing. The guild would meet the next day to "decide their fate," and it sounded so ominous that Senkha didn't want to intrude. Oliver agreed, and they spent the following twilight renewing their wedding vows before a purple sky. The moment was perfect, but the night was a mistake.
Marius and Ziichi seemed distant from her. Ever since they met, Marius had mended Senkha's broken wings time and time again, all the while telling her that thanks and payback were unnecessary--she was family. She owed him so much (though he kept saying she owed nothing), had only repaid him at all by holding his heart in her spirit's hands for two days until she was told to let go. Ziichi had not ever mended Senkha's wings or spirit, but the girls were eerily alike. Now Ziichi said without saying that it was time to repay the debt to Marius, and on the night she left, Senkha refused.
All that Senkha knew of good, she learned from Oliver. Good, to him, was a gift not an exchange. In goodness, you don't act to earn repayment. Marius was good. Ziichi was good.
And Senkha was in their debt.
I'll pay you back, I swear I will, but I'm so tired...
Work. Work was good. Senkha even liked Wilhiem and Moira now...a little. The bank vault was swollen, contracts piled high on her desk, and a cat named Box treated Senkha with such affection that she swore she'd died and come back as a goddess (or at least she earned this treatment with the saucer of heavy cream she brought by daily). An expedition of Shepard's brought more money than any of them even realized existed. At work, Senkha felt free. She could breathe. In that time, she reclaimed the safe haven of her office, her spinny chair, her stress ball. No nightmares here. No cultists. No terrorists. She signed the paycheques, and that was why they loved her. As long as they were paid, this would be true. She was safe. They would not hurt her.
And then it ended.
It ended when the trust and safety were breached, invaluable research destroyed, and Senkha accused. Perhaps without Dizzy, the Apophan, Marius, Ziichi, she may have responded with more grace. Perhaps if this stood alone, she wouldn't have behaved like a child. But it didn't and she stumbled. And then Llew, her only living blood relative, confessed to destroying the research, and Senkha fell. It was too much. It was too heavy. She rejected it all, all that she loved that snapped and bit and stung like vipers' teeth. No matter what Box thought, she was no deity. She was mortal. She was weak. She had limits.
She still wants the company. Wil and Moira weren't wrong when they pointed that out. She still wants to help the Sigil. She still wants to be Llew's cousin. She still wants to be Dizzy's mother. But until she's certain that she's healed enough to withstand their bite again, she needs to run and hide and tend to her wounds.
In her mind, she knows it's temporary. Surwich, of course, is for keeps, a cold and peaceful place like Oliver's arms. In her mind, this time is a cast. Rehabilitation. Traction. Time to recover her strength.
Forgive me. Understand. I'll come back. I swear.
Senkha always forgets this until it's time to wake each morning, and then she only remembers because getting out of bed feels like a hangover. Gradually, it all comes back: the straps around her wrist and waist, the metal against her stockings, the sense of wrongness in the bones of that leg. When she remembers, Oliver is always there, handing her the cane and smiling, icy fingers helping her out of her nightdress and into robes.
She has been awake for one month.
How can I do nothing but sleep for two weeks straight and still feel so tired a month later?
When Senkha first woke, hours were precious. Her energy waned quickly, pooling downward and outward in an exhausting spiral. Every small thing took more effort than she remembered, even simple things like sitting up or speaking. Emotion made it worse. Emotion made her forget to breathe, as had the infection in her blood when Oliver first took her away from the cult. Her daughter was like quicksilver, heavy and sticky and choking (if beautiful). Anger--at herself, at her captors, her captors, her rescuers--was gaseous and acrid. Even happiness tightened like a noose.
Perhaps she should have left the recovery room more often. Perhaps the noose of happiness could have saved her from inhaling too much of anything else, but every time she woke, committees materialized by her sides and feet and talked until her eyes closed against her will and the nightmares came and stole away her rest. How much she wanted to see people! The ones who would understand, who wouldn't have to ask. Oliver (but he was there). Marius. Ziichi.
I want to see you. I don't know how to ask.
The back room was its own world, kept away from the rest. Everyone came back and used the room for everything, making all manner of noise as they did, but it was subdued and protected from any bad news or anything difficult. Whatever bad happened outside the room stayed far from the sunshine windows. Even in a month on the Quel'Talan, Senkha didn't know what was wrong in the Sigil, what dangers they faced, what troubles took place outside that back room door. Two days before she left, she got an inkling, and it sounded to her like parents talking about divorcing. The guild would meet the next day to "decide their fate," and it sounded so ominous that Senkha didn't want to intrude. Oliver agreed, and they spent the following twilight renewing their wedding vows before a purple sky. The moment was perfect, but the night was a mistake.
Marius and Ziichi seemed distant from her. Ever since they met, Marius had mended Senkha's broken wings time and time again, all the while telling her that thanks and payback were unnecessary--she was family. She owed him so much (though he kept saying she owed nothing), had only repaid him at all by holding his heart in her spirit's hands for two days until she was told to let go. Ziichi had not ever mended Senkha's wings or spirit, but the girls were eerily alike. Now Ziichi said without saying that it was time to repay the debt to Marius, and on the night she left, Senkha refused.
All that Senkha knew of good, she learned from Oliver. Good, to him, was a gift not an exchange. In goodness, you don't act to earn repayment. Marius was good. Ziichi was good.
And Senkha was in their debt.
I'll pay you back, I swear I will, but I'm so tired...
Work. Work was good. Senkha even liked Wilhiem and Moira now...a little. The bank vault was swollen, contracts piled high on her desk, and a cat named Box treated Senkha with such affection that she swore she'd died and come back as a goddess (or at least she earned this treatment with the saucer of heavy cream she brought by daily). An expedition of Shepard's brought more money than any of them even realized existed. At work, Senkha felt free. She could breathe. In that time, she reclaimed the safe haven of her office, her spinny chair, her stress ball. No nightmares here. No cultists. No terrorists. She signed the paycheques, and that was why they loved her. As long as they were paid, this would be true. She was safe. They would not hurt her.
And then it ended.
It ended when the trust and safety were breached, invaluable research destroyed, and Senkha accused. Perhaps without Dizzy, the Apophan, Marius, Ziichi, she may have responded with more grace. Perhaps if this stood alone, she wouldn't have behaved like a child. But it didn't and she stumbled. And then Llew, her only living blood relative, confessed to destroying the research, and Senkha fell. It was too much. It was too heavy. She rejected it all, all that she loved that snapped and bit and stung like vipers' teeth. No matter what Box thought, she was no deity. She was mortal. She was weak. She had limits.
She still wants the company. Wil and Moira weren't wrong when they pointed that out. She still wants to help the Sigil. She still wants to be Llew's cousin. She still wants to be Dizzy's mother. But until she's certain that she's healed enough to withstand their bite again, she needs to run and hide and tend to her wounds.
In her mind, she knows it's temporary. Surwich, of course, is for keeps, a cold and peaceful place like Oliver's arms. In her mind, this time is a cast. Rehabilitation. Traction. Time to recover her strength.
Forgive me. Understand. I'll come back. I swear.