He-Thing awoke

in a dark room

lit by a solitary candle.

Waves of blackness

undulated around him.

“Hello?”

His voice was weak,

uncertain.

There was the faint outline

of a doorway.

He heard voices outside

in the hall.

“Focus on the greater good, Geuraine,”

a stern woman said.

The other woman answered,

in a smaller voice,

“Yes, of course, mistress.”

Footsteps tapped

down the hall.

A pale shadow

glided into the room,

and lit a lamp on a table.

A nurse dressed in green and white

was illuminated.

Her face was veiled,

and she wore spectacles,

but her eyes sparkled

with a kindly amusement.

He-Thing saw that

he was in a small hospital room.

He was lying in bed

under thick layers of blankets,

and he had a red sigil

painted on the inside

of his left forearm.

“You are awake,”

said the nurse,

in a peculiar accent

He-Thing did not recognize.

“I am Nurse Geuraine.

How are you feeling?”

He-Thing spoke honestly.

“I am... in pain.”

It was difficult to breathe.

But he was so happy

to be lying down,

so content to be at rest,

he just wanted to stay like this

for a while,

that was all he wanted.

“The surgeon will operate

on you tomorrow morning,”

said Geuraine.

“The slaves will prepare you

beforehand.”

He-Thing took long, shallow

breaths.

He was afraid.

How did he tell her

he was afraid?

“The sibyls have divined

that you will survive your surgery,”

Geuraine said.

She crossed the room

and stood before

the black square of the window.

She looked into the eyes

of her reflection.

“All the signs point

to a full recovery.”

He-Thing realized that

he was nowhere near

the end of this,

he was just at the start.

“That is good to hear,” he said,

feeling sorry for himself.

Geuraine drew the curtains shut.

“The surgeon is very good,”

she said.

“And the Blue Nectar

is very powerful.”

“I need to check your sigil,”

Geuraine said.

She lifted his left arm,

examining

the red sigil.

Her touch was gentle

when it was not commanded to be,

her flesh warm.

He-Thing looked into her face.

Geuraine’s dark hair was pulled back

into a haphazard ponytail,

and behind her spectacles,

her eyebrows were bashfully animated.

A veil cannot hide a woman’s beauty.

“I have to reapply some of it,”

she said.

“It is fading.

You will have to keep still.”

“I can do that,”

He-Thing said,

smiling at her,

but he hung over the abyss.

She unlatched a small tin

and held it over the candle

until it whispered smoke.

She dipped her finger

into the tin,

and its tip was red when she removed it.

Geuraine lifted his arm with her other hand,

and painted the warm,

red

viscous liquid across his skin,

reinforcing the magic sigil.

He-Thing could instantly feel

the sorcery seep into his blood,

his pain became distant,

and his neck became loose.

“Be still,” she said.

Geuraine’s movements were precise,

well-practiced,

imbued with sacred notions.

Her touch soothed He-Thing

beyond what he could have

imagined;

and the

incredible sensation

of the thick, warm,

mysterious liquid

across his skin

was hypnotizing.

Was it the sorcery?

Or was it her?

She gripped his wrist

lighter than a wing

gripped the air.

“Did you grow up far from here?”

she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “Very far.”

“And you?” he asked.

She nodded.

“I came here a year ago

with my brother.”

“From where?”

“Meraneo.”

He-Thing’s eyes lit up.

“I know it. Beautiful mountains.”

“Yes.”

She smiled,

and they were silent for a moment.

Geuraine let go of his arm

and closed the tin.

She wiped her finger on a cloth.

“Try to get some rest,” she said.

She extinguished the lamp,

and was gone.

to be continued...