Time passed differently within the walls of the healer’s secluded hut, a timeless haven in the midst of an ever-changing world. Sixteen years had come and gone, though Misery’s body remained untouched by age, preserved by the intricate magic woven into her very essence. Her chest rose and fell faintly, each breath a fragile tether to life.
The healer, once sharp and spry, now moved with the careful deliberation of age. Her hair, once streaked with gray, had turned fully white, and her hands bore the signs of years spent performing delicate, magical work. Despite her weariness, she never faltered in her duty. Misery’s survival had become her life’s work, her final penance for a life spent trading magic for coin.
One morning, as the early sun filtered through the small window, a sound broke the stillness. At first, it was so faint the healer dismissed it as the groaning of the hut’s ancient wooden beams. But then it came again—a dry, rasping gasp.
The healer turned sharply, her old heart pounding. Misery’s fingers twitched against the edge of the table, her body no longer motionless. Her silver eyes fluttered open, unfocused and glassy. The healer rushed to her side, her hands trembling as they hovered over her.
“Misery,” she said softly, her voice trembling with both relief and caution. “You’re awake.”
Misery’s lips parted, a cracked sound escaping. Her first word came as a whisper, barely audible. “Water.”
The healer hurried to fetch a cup, holding it to Misery’s lips and helping her drink. Each swallow seemed to awaken something within her, bringing faint color to her pale cheeks. Her breaths came shallow and uneven at first but steadied as she adjusted to the sensation of life returning to her limbs.
Her gaze darted around the room, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. Confusion clouded her silver eyes until her memory began piecing itself together. The throne room. The battle. The baby.
Her voice was hoarse as she asked, “Where… am I?”
The healer hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “You’re in my hut. You’ve been here… for a long time.”
Misery’s brow furrowed, and her voice grew sharper despite its weakness. “How long?”
The healer lowered her gaze. “Sixteen years.”
Misery’s chest tightened, the weight of those words crushing. “Sixteen… no.” She struggled to sit up, her body trembling with the effort. Her hands gripped the edge of the table as if to ground herself. “My baby,” she rasped. “Where is my baby?”
The healer’s silence spoke volumes. Misery’s heart raced as panic surged through her. “Tell me!” she demanded, her voice breaking. “What happened to her?”