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Morning light filtered through the hospital blinds. Chill couldn’t even turn her head to stare out the window, only locking into a dead stare with the ceiling tiles. All there was to do was count the slits in the vents above.
Everyday became just like this. Morning check in always on the dot. Meal. Medicine. Afternoon check in. Meal. Evening medicine round. Check in. Meal. Try to sleep. Give up and ask for a sleep aid. Rinse and repeat.
The month prior, Chill had gone on a recovery mission through a well-traveled forest, going to grab something or other from someone and return it to the Academy. But, instead she found a hulking, frenzied ent destroying a merchant caravan. Being a heroine, of course she made quick work of it. But, she had not noticed that the flowers on the ent’s back, those of the reddest roses she might ever see, were flowering. She hadn’t realized how much of the pollen she breathed in, and soon, a strange magical affliction overtook her.
There are many names for lovesickness across Skylands, for both the physical and emotional. But coughing up petals and thorns, that was not something Chill was familiar with. After sneaking away to the stacks in the Academy library, she found the truth of this condition.
And well, it wasn’t looking good. The thorns could only take root in the lungs of someone in the throes of yearning for another, which only meant one thing: Chill was unfortunately interested in Sprocket, legitimately. Not a passing crush, or some coworker friendship. No, this was worse. Much worse.
Because Sprocket only loved machines.
Slowly, Chill raised her hand, tugging on the tubing firmly attached to her wrist. Her fingers still had prints, her palms still had creases, even the scar on her thumb she earned preparing her meal several years back.
Even after Chill figured out the truth, she pretended like everything could just go back to normal. But the roots only grew tighter, the petals more plentiful and harder to clear out of her throat. Somehow, they grew even redder.
After she collapsed in front of Sprocket, that was it. The last chance.
But Chill didn’t say anything. Not when Sprocket sat with her in the hospital pending treatment, not after the first failed test, not after hacking up another bouquet. And once the attending healer recommended surgical removal, Chill simply accepted it, side effects and all.
It had been a week since the surgery, and Sprocket had not visited. Perhaps she knew what was really up with Chill, but even that possibility wouldn’t stir Chill at this point.
Because now, Chill felt neither loneliness or company, happy or sad, scared or excited. She simply existed. Maybe one day, she’ll escape this shadow of a daydream.