Alpha [Epsilon #3] {ON-HOLD}

|22| Darla

(n.) Darla is traditionally a girl's name, meaning 'darling' or 'Dear, Loved One'

The week had gone by in a flash. The court became more and more flustered as the days went, as the date to leave for the Western Territory grew closer. Hushed mutterings. Rushed steps. Shifting shadows. It got to the point where, as I was walking down the halls to the infirmary on the Sunday morning – the day before we were due to leave – it felt like I was walking through a ghost town.

Then again, I supposed war called for such things. For many, this would be their first time intermingling with another court. I think there was as much dread as there was excitement.

I drew to a stop before the infirmary door. I allowed myself in and walked past the rows and rows of beds, towards the intensive care room at the very back. The one Luna Darla was stored away in. I'd been visiting Luna Darla and Alpha Osyn those last few days, though I'd never stayed for very long. Maybe because it was apparent that Luna Darla's condition wasn't improving, and I didn't have the strength to face that fact.

An Omega in a white coat exited Darla's room and walked towards me. I caught him on the elbow. "Hey, doctor. How is she?"

His face looked strained and weary. Those doctors exhausted themselves, day and night, trying to improve Luna Darla's condition. They were her subjects as well, after all, and they were giving everything they had.

But to no avail. He just gave me a slight shake of his head. That was enough for me to know that nothing had improved. That nothing pointed towards Luna Darla waking up. I let go of his arm and allowed him to leave. I then went into the room from which he'd just came.

I shut the door behind me. My heart tightened at the sight. I'd seen it many times before, so one would think I'd gotten used to it by then, but that wasn't the case. Luna Darla lay comatose in a metal bed, countless wires and IV lines coming out of her body and leading into to various machines. They all beeped and churned in the background. An ECG monitor beeped somewhere in the room, but the space was too crowded with machines to tell exactly where it was. So many tubes and pipes had been stuck down her throat that I wondered how she could even breathe.

Then again, it wasn't like she really could. A ventilator wheezed and whirred by her side, in time with the robotic rise and fall of her chest. The poison had reached the part of her brain that regulated breathing and heart signals. Now, she couldn't breathe without a machine. The wire attached to her chest hummed with charge, waiting for the moment her heart stopped – which occurred more and more often these days – so that it could shock it back to life.

I swallowed my misery and made my way to the dishevelled man sitting by her side, clutching her cold blue hands. Alpha Osyn was barely recognisable. The grief had physically aged him, to the point where grey hairs now stuck out of the jet-black mop. His entire face looked numb and vacant, which struck real fear in my heart.