April Flowers, prompt 16 - "In the Light of Day"
Title: In the Light of Day
Author: shimotsuki
Rating & Warnings: PG, indirect reference to torture
Characters/Pairing: Cazaril
Prompt: #16, sunlight
Format & Word Count: Drabble-plus | 175 words
Summary: Cazaril wakes, and finds the world is not as he expected.
In the Light of Day
Sunlight forced its way past Cazaril’s heavy eyelids, dragging him out of a feverish sleep.
He flinched. Late-he was late-why hadn’t someone come for him, pulled him out of his berth-
-finished the beating that had so nearly finished him yesterday?
He made to roll over and stand up, but pain seared the whole of his back like a branding iron. A sharp gasp escaped him, and he fell back against the-
-pillow?
He opened his eyes, breathing hard.
The harsh, sea-brightened sunlight that had stung him awake now pooled, not on the rough-hewn planks of the hold of a galley, but on smooth stone walls and clean white linens.
The Mother’s hospital.
Thank the gods.
“Good sir?” An acolyte had stopped by his bed, holding a bowl of broth topped by a piece of fresh, soft bread. “Will you take some breakfast?”
Bed-linens-pillow. Broth. Bread.
Good sir.
Cazaril meant to thank the boy, but he found he had begun to weep, instead.
He could not stop.
.
Author: shimotsuki
Rating & Warnings: PG, indirect reference to torture
Characters/Pairing: Cazaril
Prompt: #16, sunlight
Format & Word Count: Drabble-plus | 175 words
Summary: Cazaril wakes, and finds the world is not as he expected.
In the Light of Day
Sunlight forced its way past Cazaril’s heavy eyelids, dragging him out of a feverish sleep.
He flinched. Late-he was late-why hadn’t someone come for him, pulled him out of his berth-
-finished the beating that had so nearly finished him yesterday?
He made to roll over and stand up, but pain seared the whole of his back like a branding iron. A sharp gasp escaped him, and he fell back against the-
-pillow?
He opened his eyes, breathing hard.
The harsh, sea-brightened sunlight that had stung him awake now pooled, not on the rough-hewn planks of the hold of a galley, but on smooth stone walls and clean white linens.
The Mother’s hospital.
Thank the gods.
“Good sir?” An acolyte had stopped by his bed, holding a bowl of broth topped by a piece of fresh, soft bread. “Will you take some breakfast?”
Bed-linens-pillow. Broth. Bread.
Good sir.
Cazaril meant to thank the boy, but he found he had begun to weep, instead.
He could not stop.
.