Chapter 44 - Convalescence [Part 2]

  To further ensure Haze’s cooperation and safety, Seraphina had tasked her loyal serpent, Cornelia, with a constant surveillance of the addict. The serpent’s coils provided a stronger, more reliable restraint than any lock could manage, though that had not stopped Seraphina from investing in the highest-quality locks available. As always, a layered approach was the most effective way to ensure one’s desired outcomes.

  “How much longer must I stay here?” Finleigh murmured weakly, her voice barely audible, weighed down by lethargy and despair.

  Seraphina briefly considered her alternative plan if rehabilitation failed entirely. Cornelia was more than capable of dealing decisively with any situation—perhaps, she might just have the serpent might simply devour the Bard if necessary. Indeed, as of late, Cornelia had been replacing Miriam in this rather important duty of dealing with inconvenient things. Her maid had far too much on her plate, after all. Seraphina chuckled inwardly at this bit of cleverness.

  In Seraphina's estimation, the Finleigh likely suffered from some form of depression. Depression, the young girl thought, was a weakness of the mind that only preyed on and afflicted the weak-willed. If there was one trait she despised above all others, it was weakness. Vulnerability she could reluctantly accept, understanding that even the strongest had moments of fragility, but outright weakness disgusted her, representing an abhorrent denial of everything that she felt she was.

  “Why, Haze, darling,” she responded softly, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness, “you must remain here until you have recovered completely.”

  As if in punctuation, she effortlessly conjured a Crystal Dagger, her growing mastery of crystal magic evident in the ease of its summoning. Haze looked worriedly at the shard of pink crystal before Seraphina simply fed it to Cornelia, who gobbled it down with a crunch.

  Whatever follow-up question or line of inquiry that was budding on Haze’s lip died at witnessing this display.

  This magic lent her mind a sharper clarity that balanced the troublesome bouts of altruism brought on by the excessive use of Heal. Yet crystal magic, too, was slowly reshaping her core, embedding itself insidiously within her, a stark reminder that nothing powerful came without cost.

  She sighed softly as she considered this internal struggle. Not only was she burdened by this body’s previous memories, she also bore the weight of the Arcane. Magic, in its way, was both boon and burden, slowly but inexorably replacing her very self. She wondered how many more spells she could safely cast before Seraphina de Sariens became merely an echo of who she had once been.

  “It is time for your breakfast, Haze,” Seraphina said warmly, her radiant smile brimming with a brightness that rivaled the golden sunlight streaming gently through the nearby window.

  Despite her lingering misgivings, the Bard slowly lowered her defenses, allowing Seraphina to spoon-feed her carefully prepared soup. Initially, the noblewoman had found the task unpleasant, almost distasteful, yet over time, a curious change had overtaken her perception of the ordeal. Once she began thinking of it simply as tending to a cherished pet, a small, delicate blossom of satisfaction unfurled within her heart.

  When at last the bowl was empty, Seraphina offered herself a silent, approving pat on the back. I really am growing as a person, she mused with quiet pride. Was this tender sense of fulfillment the same pleasure that healers and physicians experienced when caring for the sick and infirm? Or, a darker, more troubling thought whispered, was it merely another subtle manifestation of the insidious influence exerted by the Holy magics she wielded so often?

  Still playing the role of attentive healer and gentle caretaker, Seraphina calmly retrieved a small wooden board, a fresh sheet of parchment, a quill, and an inkwell from the nearby dresser. With graceful efficiency, she arranged them neatly on a table beside the Bard’s bed.

  “Tell me, Haze,” she began softly, her tone imbued with genuine concern, carefully rehearsed yet convincingly sincere, “what was it exactly that drew you so irresistibly to the lure of those Dust-induced dreams? Surely you knew the terrible dangers involved in such an indulgence.”

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  “You would not believe me even if I told you,” Finleigh murmured weakly, her voice tinged with bitterness and defeat as she turned her gaze pointedly away.

  The hardened emeralds of Seraphina’s eyes momentarily softened, showing a gentle, sympathetic expression she had practiced meticulously before the mirror. “Come now, Haze. I cannot help you unless you tell me what truly ails you. If we are to heal your spirit, we must face the root of the issue directly, no matter how uncomfortable it might be.”

  A long, heavy silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the overly enthusiastic trills and warbles of birdsong drifting in from outside the window. The noise grated on Seraphina’s patience, distracting her carefully honed concentration.

  “Hawk!” Seraphina warned, channeling the power of her enchanted necklace. Immediately, as though compelled by an invisible force, the birds ceased their clamorous symphony, scattering swiftly into the clear morning sky.

  “Where!? They are yummy!” Cornelia mentally blurted, only for Seraphina’s glare to silence her.

  At length, Haze let out a deep sigh, the sound heavy with profound melancholy. It was swiftly followed by another sigh, this one even more exaggerated, clearly an attempt to tug at Seraphina’s sympathies. The noblewoman had to consciously clench her jaw to prevent her teeth from grinding in irritation at the Bard’s transparent attempt to tug at her heart strings.

  “I... I saw him there,” Haze began softly, her voice scarcely above a whisper. “In the dreams the Dust gave me, I saw my father again. He was just as I remembered, sitting by the fireplace, holding his Chordrelle. He would always play it when he felt happy. Or sad. Or even just bored.” Her eyes grew distant as they welled gently with tears, the emotions she had fought so long to suppress now spilling out into the open.

  Seraphina raised an elegant eyebrow, keeping her expression carefully measured while inwardly her mind churned with a combination of curiosity and mild irritation. She searched through her memory, the vast lore she had meticulously internalized from the game, yet found nothing matching Haze’s recollections. Perhaps she had skipped over this particular detail, or maybe it was something the developers had added later.

  “My father always wanted to be a great Bard,” Haze continued, her tone growing faintly nostalgic and wistful. “He lived for music, for stories that moved the soul. Even though he never achieved true fame, he never stopped playing. I used to watch him for hours, lost in melodies that seemed to fill our little home with magic.”

  Haze paused, a bitter smile ghosting across her pale, cracked lips. “I wanted so badly to follow in his footsteps. But I was foolish to try. A girl can never be a true Bard, not like he could have been, either.”

  Seraphina barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Father issues. How incredibly original. Yet outwardly she maintained a gentle, supportive demeanor, tilting her head thoughtfully as if deeply moved by the bard’s confession.

  “But that’s nonsense, Haze,” Seraphina replied smoothly, her voice sweet and reassuring. “With me, you’ve made quite the name for yourself already. Your music can charm even the hardest hearts. You should never doubt your worth.”

  Haze shook her head slowly, weakly, as though the motion itself cost her great effort. “It’s not the same. My father’s love for music was pure, effortless. He was music. I’m just... a shadow chasing echoes.”

  With a lackluster attitude like that, you will always just be a shadow, Seraphina thought darkly.

  “Tell me more,” she prompted gently. “If we understand these dreams fully, perhaps we can break their hold on you.”

  She carefully dipped her quill into the inkwell and pretended to jot down notes on the parchment.

  Haze took a ragged breath, closing her eyes tightly as though bracing against an invisible pain. “In those dreams, I finally had the courage to play beside him. He smiled at me, Seraphina. He was proud of me. Just once… it was, I was, enough.”

  This is just too much. Seraphina paused, quill hovering above the parchment, considering carefully how best to exploit this vulnerability. A troubled heart, a yearning for validation—such things could easily be shaped to her advantage.

  Smiling softly once more, she reached out, gently placing a reassuring hand upon Haze’s trembling shoulder.

  “I can not promise to reunite you with the memories of your father, darling, for the solace of the Dust extracts a most terrible price,” she murmured comfortingly. “But I can help you find a way to make him proud of you. Together.”

  Haze suddenly wrapped her arms tightly around Seraphina in an embrace so fierce and desperate that it seemed as if the weakened Bard had secretly been hoarding her strength precisely for this very moment. Seraphina was momentarily taken aback by the unexpected intensity, nearly losing her composure as Haze buried her face deep into her shoulder, tears streaming freely down her cheeks. The rawness of the embrace, the sheer force of Haze’s sudden vulnerability, caught even Seraphina off guard.

  But Seraphina was quick to rally, and a part of her almost looked forward to solving Haze’s little issue. It was a puzzle that could be conveniently solved.