#coma prompt

I couldn’t help the tears as I stepped into the hospital room. It had been months since I’d seen him awake, seen him moving. So much had happened, but it felt so empty without him.

His smile was just as big, just as bright as before, despite the shrinking of his frame. I couldn’t imagine what he was feeling right now.

a strange shadowy beast pounces on the already-bruised and bleeding whumpee, stabbing the whumpee in the chest with a poison barbed tail and nearly suffocating the whumpee by forcing 3 black-slimy tentacles down the whumpee’s throat, slowly poisoning the whumpee until the whumpee passes out, at which point, the beast scampers away after pulling out the tendrils, leaving the whumpee to die. the Caretaker is able to find the whumpee, and carries the whumpee over to (a village, cabin, home, whatever you choose) where the Caretaker(or some other person, like a doctor or a village healer/shaman) and is able to pull the poison out of the whumpee’s throat via magic use, before storing the poison in a glass bottle, the Caretaker then tends to the whumpee’s wounds, and places a wet cloth on the whumpee’s forehead. weeks later, the whumpee awakens, still feeling sick and weak, but at least finally awake, the Caretaker is glad the whumpee has finally woken from their coma.

edit: changed whumper to caretaker since i finally now know the difference, i’m new to this so, it might be a tad bit off to you.

My muse has discovered that yours is in a coma. Send ¥ for what my muse would say to yours while visiting them at the hospital.

You breathe.

That is how I see it - your chest rises and falls, aided by nothing but the unconscious action of your body.

My thoughts, however are a lie. You breathe only with the aid of the machine that beeps quietly in the corner. You sleep not in your peaceful, beautiful grove, but in a flat bed of a private hospital - a place that took me several days to gain access to.

But gain access I did, and I stand here now, watching you breathe on a machine that serves its mechanical purpose of keeping you alive.

But living? How can you live when your eyes are not open? How can you live if I cannot see your peaceful smile, your gentle gaze? How can you live if you so clearly lack the light that you carry - a light I, for once, am powerless to touch?

Another beep of the machine, a state-of-the-art Piltovian hextech device that monitors your vitals. Another noise in the dead silence of the room.

“You would hate it.”

The words are unprompted. They smash through the white noise in my brain, and so I continue, if only to fill the room with something other than silence. 

“I visited you once, in your grove. Remember? We talked a little, but we sat a lot. We shut our eyes, meditated, listened.”

I remember the rustle of leaves in the breeze. I remember the soft chirp of crickets. I remember the coolness of the night air. I remember opening my eyes to the skies, the wonders of the stars and the moon.

And yet, even with my pleading stare, your eyes remain shut even now.

The object in my hand trembles, and I quickly look for somewhere suitable to place it. Something catches my eye, and I reach for the crystal vase. It is so much less than you deserve, but it is the only thing there. The flowers before that are fading already - somehow I know they’re the hospital ones, placed there by nurses when nobody else visits.

I do not know if I am the first visitor. I cannot expect that to be true - surely Caitlyn or Ezreal or Jayce has visited by now. Perhaps they jsut didn’t know what to say, what gifts to leave.

Nevertheless, the hospital flowers are ordinary, perfume-less, dull.

You are a star, a gentle point of guidance and wisdom.

And so are these flowers that I place in the vase: Tiny and sweet-smelling, lily of the valley is expensive - but for someone who has spent her life caring for and guiding others, nothing is too expensive. I know that after a few days the scent will have filled the room, driving out that clinical hospital smell, and giving this place another sign of…something else. Possibly life. 

I cannot heal the healer, but perhaps I can give them something from this world to anchor them, call them home.

“…Come back to us, Starchild- So-Soraka.”

“…The night sky makes more sense when you’re here.”