~ * ~
Itâs dark.
Everything is pitch black, your vision dancing with muddy spots as it adjusts to the sudden lack of light, the star lamp nothing more than an empty glass case. Your fingers rest on your open book, still and cold as ice, and something breathes down your neck, horribly close.
Whateverâs behind you exhales, and you exhale with it, not daring to even blink as goosebumps stand and prickle on your skin; tiny needles jabbing and dancing across your flesh and nails.
Your movements are stiff as you turn, a wooden puppet being dragged across a starlit stage, forcing yourself to confront whoever- or whatever- looms behind you, the fear swallowing your heart whole.
A monster. A monster stares back at you, and your breath catches and chokes in your throat, feet stumbling backwards and knocking against the table in an attempt to get as far away from the beast as possible. But every step back you take is met with a step forward from the creature before you, claws shining and silver and so sharp- with a single slash youâd be dead, blood coating the floor, never to speak again. You squeeze your eyes shut, heart pounding in your chest as you accept your inevitable death in one rushed exhale.
And yet, it never comes.
Thereâs the sensation of something near your face, so close you can almost feel it, but canât because itâs still not touching you yet, razor-edged talons ghosting over your skin. The creature sniffs you almost delicately, letting out a small huff of air that ruffles your hair, and tentatively you open your eyes to stare into the strange, crystalline gaze of the monster.
It blinks in faceted sapphire, warily curious, the crimson red of its mask and horns visible even in the gloom. The very tips of its claws hover over your cheek, light breathes falling from a maw filled with deadly, pointed fangs. Cold, heavy fear gives way to caution and awe, not daring to move as the creature leans closer and carefully nudges your face with armored hands.
You inhale sharply and the beast flinches away, catching your skin and tearing open a small, stinging cut. The blood slowly trickles down, sticky and warm, your head swimming in a daze.
Itâs too warm in here, too stuffy, the room illuminated only by the soft glow of the monsterâs eye, and with blurry vision you swear you catch a few glimpses of twinkling stardust as you press your back against the wall, dread clouding in and filling your chest.
Rattling coughs wrack your throat, the force sending sparks of pain through your head as your body jolts. The faint light in the room retreats as the peculiar creature darts away, a sound akin to a panicked hiss reaching your ears as it flees, and youâre left alone in the darkness. A gradual ringing begins to whine in your mind, high-pitched and constant, and you slump and curl into yourself.
It hurts to move- it hurts to breathe, your lungs shriveling up, refusing to hold enough air for you to inhale properly. Instead you wheeze painfully, black bits of intangible mold bursting and invading your sight until you can see nothing but the Abyss itself in an ocean of unlit stars.
It opens its mouth, sharpened teeth grazing your skin, and consumes you.
Hurts⌠It hurtsâŚ
Are you awake? You canât tell- you canât see anything. Were you lost at sea? There are voices, obscured by water filling your ears, and you feel like youâre drowning.
âOh dear, this alreadyâŚâ
âWhat did you expect? Weak, pathetic mortals were never meant to enter the Abyss.â
âI know, but⌠I thought we had more timeâŚâ
âAlways the⌠optimist, arenât you Enjou? A word of advice from someone more experienced- stay in the Library, do your job, and sort dusty old books like youâre supposed to.â
EnjouâŚ? Heâs hereâŚ? Vaguely you register a door slamming shut, and you wince as your head throbs. Someone- Enjou- hums quietly, carefully pulling a silken blanket up to your shoulders, the smooth, chilly texture making you shiver.
âHeâs right, of course,â The Pyro Lector sighs, his claws tapping idly against each other. âBut I didnât think itâd happen so quickly⌠Something must be done, and quickly.â
With a click of his talons, Enjou stands and delicately smooths down your hair, and you want nothing more than to lean into his touch and fall asleep until everything becomes a dream and you wake up, safe at home in Liyue. But instead you merely cry, tears leaking out of your aching eyes, leaving warm trails down your burning cheeks as Enjou departs, the door shutting with a soft thud.
Youâve never despised being alone more.
Your body feels hot and freezing cold all at once, the cool sheets against your skin sending chills down your spine, and when you try to inhale you only end up coughing, thick miasma in your lungs choking and smothering you. Any shifts in discomfort send new waves of pain through your body, your veins and nerves infected by the night.
Your cheek stings momentarily, and you almost laugh at the small, shallow cut still present. It feels so long ago, your encounter with that mysterious beast a distant, foggy memory. Youâd reach up to touch the tiny injury if your body didnât hurt so much, so instead the scab simply tightens and itches overtop of your skin; scratching, burning, festering.
Thereâs a small scraping sound at your door, and then a slow, drawn-out creak as it swings open, even the dim light from the hall enough to make you wince, but your body suddenly stiffens in fear when heavy footsteps approach your bedside. A shadow obscures the small amount of light that blinded you so, hot, raspy breaths raising goosebumps on your neck- all you can do is curl into a tight, shaking ball as the bed dips from the weight of claws, terribly familiar.
Someone lifts your covers and brings them to your shoulders, carefully tucking the silken sheets around you. Thereâs a moment of rummaging before another weight drops on top of you, warmth spreading through your chilled body as those same claws delicately settle a thick quilt atop you.
Instinctively you let out a sigh of relief, and are met with a soothing purr in response.
Your senses are muffled from then on, only registering the loss of company- why were you ever scared of it in the first place? Now you sink into your lonesomeness, the ache in your bones present even when lying down, covered in blankets. Thereâs not a peep from anyone in the hall, not even Enjou; perhaps theyâve all forgotten about you.
In a strange way, you almost prefer this, being able to suffer in silence without enduring the judgmental glares of the Abyss.
Your lungs thicken and congeal, and you languish away in your cage of a room.
âYour Highness, this is really quite serious.â
âWhat have I said about disturbing me⌠Especially at this hour.â
âWith all due respect, Prince Tartaglia, your spouse is dying.â
âI donât care.â
âYou should.â
âWatch your tongue, Librarian,â Tartaglia growls, rubbing his temples. âAll this does is rid me of a problem I never asked for.â
Enjou clicks his tongue, giving the Crown Prince a cold look. âOr it could break the already tenuous partnership in place with Liyue. Their symptoms look very⌠familiar.â Tartaglia stills, turning towards the Lector, whose shoulders slump with relief upon seeing the smallest hint of worry in His Majestyâs dull blue eyes. âYou really should come see them, Childe⌠Even just once.â
The Prince brushes his hand across your forehead, only to snatch it back in shock when his fingers touch skin thatâs nearly scalding.Â
âTheir fever is so highâŚâ he murmurs- and yet, youâre shivering, caught in the grasp of some unknown chill. Your eyes are screwed shut in pain, incoherent mumbles falling from your lips, and a cold knot forms in Tartagliaâs gut.
Strange. Thatâs never happened before. The Prince of the Abyss isnât one to get nervous, yet here he is, dread settling in his bones and refusing to leave. He moves to adjust your covers, only to find that someoneâs already done so, adding an old, worn quilt on top to keep you warm. The familiar fabric is soft against his calloused fingers and Tartaglia sighs.
Suddenly you let out a series of violent coughs, the Prince jumping back in slight alarm. Each is more violent than the last, your hands squeezing the blankets in a vice grip, and Tartaglia instinctively places a hand on your back to support your thrashing body. When the fit ends you let out a shuddering breath, collapsing back against the mattress.
Small tears begin forming at the corners of your eyes, and Tartaglia silently rubs your spine with his thumb.
âLibrarian.â
The Lector perks up, standing at the doorway.
âArrange for a visit to the surface⌠They need medical treatment.â
Enjou nods and turns on his heel to inform the other members of the Court.
âOh, and Enjou?â
He tilts his head backwards, confused at the downcast look in the ginger-haired Princeâs eyes.
âDo it quickly.â
Another nod and the Lector vanishes down the hall, leaving Tartaglia at your side. His movements are stiff and much too rigid as he sits on the edge of your bed, staring out into the corridor beyond your room. Itâs almost comical, seeing such a grand figure perched motionless on the mattress, glaring forwards as if daring anyone to say a word.
You whimper in your sleep, trembling from the effort of breathing, and subconsciously your hand reaches for and grasps Tartagliaâs, squeezing as hard as you can. His eyes widen, flashing with bewilderment as he snaps his head down to your hand holding his, like itâs all that prevents you from breaking.
Another wave of pain stabs your skin, and your grip squeezes the Princeâs fingers even tighter.
After a moment, he gently squeezes back.
