XXVIII ※ Five Days of Beauty Sleep Didn’t Fix My Trauma—Who Knew?

I felt better when I opened my eyes this time—so much better than before, in fact, that for a fleeting moment, I almost didn't recognize the absence of overwhelming pain. My body didn't ache as much; the sharp, searing pains that had plagued every inch of me were now dull, manageable thuds. My ribs, which I had been almost certain were broken, no longer felt like they were stabbing into my lungs with every shallow breath. Even the headache, which had lingered like an unshakable storm cloud, seemed to have eased. It was still there, of course—a low, insistent pressure at the back of my skull—but it was nowhere near as debilitating as it had been. For the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn't drowning in my own misery, and I allowed myself a brief moment of quiet relief before the sound of a familiar voice pulled me back to reality.

"Are you awake, child?" The voice was calm, steady, and carried the warmth of someone who cared far more than they let on. It was Hov.

I blinked a few times, letting my eyes adjust to the dim lighting of the room. Slowly, I turned my head toward him, taking in the concerned expression on his face. "Yes," I replied, my voice hoarse and scratchy, as if the simple act of speaking required immense effort. I swallowed, trying to soothe the dryness in my throat, before continuing, "How long was I asleep?"

"Only five days, don't worry," he answered, his tone light and casual, as though that amount of time was insignificant. Gods above. Five days?

"Only?" I repeated, letting the disbelief and sarcasm seep into my voice. "Thirty days in total. Now I have twenty-three months left. Great!" My words came out sharper than I intended, but the bitterness behind them was impossible to suppress. I saw his expression falter slightly, a flicker of sadness crossing his face, and for a moment, I almost felt bad. Almost.

He sighed, the sound heavy with unspoken concern. "It's not like you missed anything good, though!" he said, attempting to sound reassuring. But his attempt did little to ease the bitterness that had settled in my chest.

I scoffed, shaking my head. "Everybody must have been so happy to see me almost dying," I muttered, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "I wish I had seen their faces when they heard I was going to survive." I allowed myself a bitter smile at the thought of their disappointment, the image briefly lifting the weight pressing on my chest.

Hov tilted his head slightly, his expression soft but inquisitive. "I don't know how your relationship is with the people here, child, but I don't think some of them hate you as much as you may believe they do."

A short, humorless laugh escaped my lips before I could stop it. "That's called pretending, Hov," I said, closing my eyes briefly as I took a deep breath, willing myself to stay calm. My chest still felt tight, but the pain was bearable now, and I clung to that small mercy. "None of them can fool me with their fake kindness."

"You should know that they hate me, Hov," I continued, my tone devoid of any emotion. "All of them would kill me at any time. Especially Crown Prince Daisuke and my older brother, Rai. And in all honesty, I understand their hatred, and I'm okay with it."

Hov's brow furrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line as he considered my words. "Do you think His Highness made you part of the trials to torture you, then?"

I let out a dry laugh, shaking my head slightly. "There's no doubt about that, Hov," I replied, my voice cold and certain. "He isn't even trying to hide his intentions. Since we were kids—even before, when Avy was still alive—he didn't like me. But that dislike turned into hatred when he realized I had seen her death long before it happened." I ran a hand through my hair, the motion instinctive, almost comforting in its familiarity.

Hov's expression shifted, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Did you see it, though? Her death?"

I nodded, the movement slow and deliberate. "I did," I admitted, my voice softer now, weighed down by the memory. "But believe me, I didn't want to, Hov. Avy made me do it," I added, my voice cracking slightly as the words left my lips. The memory was a wound that refused to heal, and even now, I could feel tears threatening to spill. I clenched my fists at my sides, trying to push them back. "She was amazing at manipulating people, so she made me see it. And she made me swear to the Gods—and on her life—that I would never tell anyone…"

Hov's eyes widened, his shock evident. "Oh, Gods. But didn't she know that making you keep it a secret would result in everyone who still tolerated you beginning to hate your guts?"

I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. "Yes, she knew it," I said, my voice hollow. "And I told her. I told her exactly what would happen to me. But she still insisted I keep it a secret. I couldn't say no to her, Hov. Avy was… everything. She was the person I loved most in this life, even more than myself. Avy was my best friend, my sister, the only person I ever had on my side."

I paused, my hands trembling as I wiped at the tears that had begun to fall. "It was her death, not mine. All I could do was respect her wish. And as she wished for me to keep that secret, that's exactly what I did. I didn't care what was going to happen to me after that." My voice faltered as I spoke, the raw truth of my words cutting deeper than I had expected. I'd known what I was getting into, known the consequences of my silence, but knowing hadn't made it any easier.

Hov's expression softened, his gaze filled with sympathy and something that resembled guilt. "But child, they treat you like a murderer. And you're not! It's not your fault that you have those eyes of death. You didn't ask for it, and yet you suffer the consequences of having this cursed gift."

I wasn't surprised that he knew about my condition. He'd taken care of my body personally, after all, and nothing escaped his watchful eyes. But hearing him say it aloud still sent a chill down my spine.

"Why haven't you told anyone about your health problems, Thya?" he asked suddenly, his voice thick with worry. His brows knitted together, and the genuine concern in his expression made guilt twist in my stomach.

I hesitated, the words catching in my throat. How could I explain the reasons behind my silence? The truth was messy, painful, and impossible to untangle in a few sentences. But the weight of his gaze—the sincerity in his eyes—made it impossible to look away.