Misery’s legs wobbled as she pushed herself upright, her body fighting against her will. Each movement was a battle, her muscles protesting the weight they hadn’t borne in sixteen years. Her breaths came in short, sharp gasps as she forced herself to take a step, then another. The world felt unstable beneath her feet, like a forgotten dance she was relearning for the first time.
The healer hovered close, her hands ready to catch Misery if she fell. “Slow down,” she urged, her voice firm but not unkind. “You’ve been still for a long time. Your body isn’t ready for this yet.”
Misery ignored the warning, her silver eyes narrowing as she took another shaky step. “I don’t have time for weakness,” she rasped, her voice hoarse from disuse. “My baby is out there somewhere. I need to be strong enough to find her.”
The healer sighed, crossing her arms as she watched Misery stumble toward the edge of the small room. “Your determination is admirable,” she said sharply, “but it won’t do you any good if you collapse before you even leave this hut. Recovery isn’t something you can rush.”
Misery turned, gripping the back of a chair for support. Her knuckles turned white as she steadied herself. “I don’t have the luxury of waiting,” she snapped, the fire in her voice belying her fragile state. “Sixteen years… I’ve already lost so much time.”
The healer’s expression softened for a brief moment. She stepped forward, placing a steadying hand on Misery’s arm. “You’ve lost time, yes. But if you don’t pace yourself, you’ll lose even more. You need strength for what’s ahead. And not just physical strength.”
Misery’s gaze dropped to her trembling hands, her nails digging into the chair’s wood. “I can’t stop,” she said quietly, her voice trembling with desperation. “I can’t fail her.”
The healer sighed again, this time with resignation. She turned away, gathering a vial of glowing liquid from her cluttered table. “Here,” she said, holding it out to Misery. “This will help your body recover faster, but it won’t perform miracles. You need food, rest, and patience.”
Misery downed the potion in one gulp, the bitter taste barely registering. Her hand gripped the edge of the table for support as she looked at the healer. “Tell me what you know,” she demanded.
The healer hesitated, her eyes darting to the door as though the outside world might intrude. “Adrian took her,” she said at last. “He believed he knew a way to keep her safe, but I can’t say where she ended up—or what’s become of her since.”
Misery’s fists clenched at her sides, her breath catching. “You mean she could be…”
“Alive,” the healer finished, her tone sharp. “Or she could be in the hands of people who don’t value life. You need to prepare yourself for that possibility.”
Misery’s voice was fierce despite her weakness. “Then I’ll get stronger. And I’ll find her.”