#shadebarrow

-Farley. A última fala vem em um sussurro morno contra o meu ouvido, num timbre tão familiar quanto meu próprio rosto. Viro por instinto e envolvo Shade num abraço, o que surpreende a nós dois. -Também é bom te ver.

"I open my eyes, blinking furiously in the sudden, harsh light. The ceiling above me is too low, and I reach out a hand to brush against the cold metal. My bicep sings with pain. Smart move, Barrow. You didn’t just catch a bullet in the arm or anything. Everything rushes back in an instant. Saving Mare and that bumbling prince from the arena. Escaping on the Undertrain, only to run smack into the Silver king’s army. I remember Kilorn half dragging me into the mersive before a pair of nurses got me into the infirmary. They gave me something to knock me out. Why did they do that? My head still swims, fuzzy from the drugs and the last cobwebs of sleep. The pain actually isn’t so bad, I think, taking stock of myself. I was shot in the arm and the leg, but both wounds were grazing at best. The leg especially. It barely throbs, little more than a deep scratch. They feel patched up, and whatever medecine I have in my system takes the edge off. I shouldn’t have slept. Diana needs me awake. Mare needs me awake. MARE.

They drugged me because I was shouting for my sister, left behind in the ruined city. She was silhouetted against lightning and flame, defending us as we escaped onto the underwater mersive. I wouldn’t stop screaming for her.

Now that I’m awake, I mights as well start again.

“Ma--!” I start. but I shoot up too quickly, and crack my forehead against the ceiling above. The thunk echoes through the room, and I hiss against the onslaught of idiot-born pain. Someone above me groans a warning. It isn’t a ceiling, but one of the many bunks making the makeshift infirmary room on board the ship.

“Sounds hollow,” a familiar voice drawls. Captain Diana Farley stands over me, half shielding me from the other bunks. She offers the slightest smirk, her scar tearing at the side of her mouth. It’s still healing, having been ripped open again and again and again in the last few weeks. Her touch is gentle as she brushes callused fingers against my forehead.

“Nothing we didn’t know already.”

Normally, I would have no issue tossing back a retort. Maybe something about her hair and buying her a new razor blade for her birthday. Or the scarlet blood covering her nurses’s shift. Instead, I linger on the scar, freshly torn and stitched back. The edges look liable to weep blood. If I didn’t know any better, I might think she’s blushing under the scrutiny.

“I won’t be winning any more beauty pageants,” she mutters, dropping my gaze.

“Stop that, Diana,” I reply, almost too sharply. She should know by now that looks don’t matter to me. Even if I already think she’s gorgeous. And we have far, far more important things to discuss. “My sister better be on this boat.”

Diana moves to stop me before I can even think of swinging my injured leg out of the bunk. 

“You stay right there, Shade Barrow,” she says, using her voice of a captain to keep me still. 

I stare back at her, my gaze determined and resolute. Willing her to answer. But she doesn’t need me to beg. 

“Mare is here, and she’s sleeping.” Just like you should be. We’ve got the Silver prince too.”

The relief hits me like a sledgehammer, right in the chest. “I want to see her.”

“You will,” she answers quickly, her voice a bit too loud. I would never call Diana a quiet person, especially around around her own people. This is different, though. Too easy to be overheard. A performance. I bite my lip, narrowing my eyes. Tell me what’s wrong. I want to ask her. She ignores me and continues, “But since she doesn’t have a leg injury, I think it’s best she come to you.”

“It’s not deep.” I try to stand again, but she braces her hands against my shoulders, holding me in place. Normally her weight on my body is cause for excitement. Not now. Her eyes take on a sharp edge.

“I know that,” she whispers, barely audible. Her teeth grit together, close enough to bite me if she wanted. Over her shoulder, the nurses continue their rounds in blood-spattered clothing. Soldiers weave among them, none as highly ranked as Diana. All of them oathed to the Guard. All of them loyal.

Why , Diana? I was a spy in Corvium, a spy up until this morning, actually, It was my job to listen, to watch, to steal, to report. To keep my head down and my ears open. To stand still until the last possible chance to run. Or jump, rather. I certainly feel like jumping now.

“The arm is just a graze,” I mutter, matching her volume.

“I know that too, Shade.” As always, my adrenaline spikes when she says my name. “Why do you think bandaged you up?”

Looking down at myself, I realize exactly how much care she took. My upper arm and shoulder are bandaged with fresh strips of gauze, blinding white against my wash-worn, patchy uniform. And the leg that got grazed is suspended from the bunk above me, a few inches off the thin blanket. The latter is incredibly unnecessary. All for the show she wants to put on.

“You changed my clothes too,” I mutter, unable to keep away a smirk. I wonder if she cleared out the infirmary to dress me properly. Probably not. Captain Farley isn’t the type to make allowances, even where I am concerned. I bet she stripped me in front of everyone.

Farley: What was that?

Shade: Affection.

Farley: Disgusting.

Shade:

Farley:

Farley: That’s imp-

Shade: *cups Farley’s face*

Mare: They had a fight.

Cal: Then why are they holding hands?

"Quem pode dizer aonde os caminhos levam, ou como a balança pode se equilibrar em outra década? Creio que eu posso, mas essa é a minha maldição. Observar, ver, até o fim de todas as coisas. Destruímos. Reconstruímos. Destruímos de novo. É a constante de nosso povo. Fomos todos escolhidos e amaldiçoados." - Jon.

Sangue de todas as cores já foi há muito derramado. Agora, com a Aliança Igualitária, todos possuem os mesmos direitos, porém, o sangue derramado nunca deixou de dor nas feridas já cicatrizadas mal-a-mal. Já passada a Guerra Dançante e a Guerra do Trovão Vermelho, tudo estava em paz. Até uma idiotice.