Page 117 of Of Shadows and Blood

“If that is all they wish to do, then why are you so serious about it?”

“Because I care for you. Because I know you want to be healed.”

“No, you just want Elivienne back.”

He curses under his breath. “Of course I want Elivienne, you, to be better. Gods, what I would give to heal you.”

“How many times will something like this happen? How many times will I be the subject to an experiment?” My panic now turns into something somber, something softened. Softened in the way paper gives in to its folds after enough uses.

“You have not been one yet, have you?”

“No.” Not since the awakening, that is.

“Then do not speak as if I have forced anything upon you. This is just a development, not a solution.”

“Yes, yes, I get that. But will you? Force me?”

“It would be remiss of me to ignore the obvious alleys we have not ventured down. You knew that the cess were working on finding a solution. You wanted a solution to the curse. Why are you now afraid of it?”

“My issue is that I am just as much Elivienne as I am Liv, now. You and I have formed a relationship, one that I once thought was stronger than this, without my memories. I have become comfortable in this castle, this place, without my memories. I have started to finally feel connected to my body, inklings of my powers, without my memories. It feels like you want to force something into place that is not ready or necessary, really.

“So, if it is a matter of calling me Liv or Elivienne, you can call me Elivienne. But if you just wish to get her back, if that is your sole goal to retrieve her in the hopes there is a difference between us… then, no. I have no desire to further disappoint you or play a part in that. I will always feel that I am a disappointment to you, or lacking, because I am not who you really thought I once was,” I say, my chest caving in with each word.

He goes to speak but I continue. “I have fallen in love with you as I am, Cedric. If this life, the way I am living, is Elivienne, I am Elivienne. The only issue is that I do not remember the before and it is an issue that will resurface if not in our relationship but other places. I can see it.”

“Healing you has been my biggest priority for years and right when I feel we could fix it, you reject any notion of it,” he whispers. It is hard to grasp that he does not see my perspective. I feel his hand brush my pinky and I cry even harder. Yet, I refuse to look at him.

This feels like betrayal and one I am not even sure I can understand.

“Just give it some thought,” he says before the cold whoosh of air from his departure blows the red tint of my hair into my eyeline. My eyes are frozen in place, my body incapable of movement. A paralysis of body and mind. There is a shaking in my fingers, my left hand clamped so tightly, the smell of blood welling and healing prominent.

He would never force me; this is something he has been adamant about and I believe that. Things have been good between us, no, more than that. Things have been great. Our bond feels real, too real, and every interaction we have had for weeks has been inspiring.

He is excited… hopeful. He wants to push it, to make it better faster.

If I refuse the cess, their magic, I let him down.

I could try it, sit through their prods again. But it feels like a step backwards. All of the progress I have made brought back to that first day I sat before Avonde.

How can I live with this disappointment?

The night comes, as it always does, and I am sat at my vanity.

Unchanged.

Unmoving.

Someone taps my shoulder. “My lady?” It’s Isadora. Jett is here too. I can hear her pulling the covers of my bed back. A small fire is lit in the fireplace near the door, the embers crackling, the smell of woodsmoke comforting.

They help me from my chair. Each of their movements is delicate, careful. My dress slips from my form, my corset with it. The pins holding half of my hair up into little braids is undone. Jett brushes it and Isadora takes a wet cloth to my neck and forehead.

I try to thank them but even the act of moving my mouth elicits tears. Cedric wants to help but this help feels like a punishment. There is little argument that I did not anticipate magical intervention, a cure, but there is so much fear attached to that. Does Liv cease to exist? Will I forget all of this?

The connection between the two identities within is wavering now. It feels so far away.

My covers are pulled up, my pillow fluffed. The two women wait by the bed for a dismissal or perhaps any action from me.

Any sign of life.