Frostbite

Chapter Thirteen

Eira spent the entire night planning. It was all she could do. She couldn't relax for a mere second, let alone fall asleep.

The room was cold. Too cold. She'd forgotten how she used to have to sleep with many blankets in the wintertime. Now she only had two. 

After what seemed like an eternity of lying in the dark, Eira noticed that the sun was beginning to peek over the horizon, the orange glow of dawn seeping between the thin curtains. A cockerel crowed somewhere off in the distance, announcing the start of the day. Eira got up soon after.

She didn't need to dress, as she'd been in bed with her clothes still on. She hadn't had any time to think about it. She did check her reflection, however, and it was every bit as bad as she'd anticipated. Her hair stuck out at strange angles and was knotted in the back from all her tossing and turning. Its dull white shade contrasted nicely with the dark, bruise-like circles beneath her bloodshot eyes. It was bad, but not much worse than usual. She'd got used to a lack of sleep over the years. Staying up all night was nothing she couldn't handle these days.

"It's not good for you, Eira. It will gradually ruin your body and you'll operate at much less than what you could of you slept well," an achingly familiar voice chided inside Eira's head.

Not now, damn it, she thought. She didn't want to hear her voice again. It hurt too much. The nightmares had got worse ever since that day. The day in which she longed to forget, the day in which had changed everything. Sometimes it felt like a far off dream. Sometimes like it was yesterday.

I'm surprised I can still feel anything. Am I not entirely numb?

It didn't seem to be the case. She only felt like that towards the news she'd received. Perhaps it was some sort of coping mechanism she had. 

Or perhaps it's because you've become a monster, whispered that awful voice she sometimes heard on the worst. It was a contorted version of someone she once knew, and of herself, reminding her exactly just how bad she was.

No, no, no. She looked straight at herself in the mirror, taking in her every feature, as means for a distraction. Her empty, hardened grey eyes, carrying the lifeless quality she was so used to. Her stark, limp white hair, still sticking out at strangle angles. The unhealthy pasty pallor of her skin, almost matching her hair. Her chapped lips, set in a frown that never seemed to go away.

 She hadn't realised how much of a state she was in. She looked almost sickly. She wondered when it would start taking its toll on her health as well as her appearance. It would be an inconvenience to her plans if she began to fall ill.

Eira bit her lip hard—a nasty habit that she'd retained—causing blood to bead where her incisors had been.

I told myself I was going to find Cerin. I have to leave.

Despite telling herself those things, she hesitated. She scanned the room. How many nights had she slept in that bed? How many dreary afternoons had she spent sitting by the hearth wrapped in a blanket reading some book she'd been assigned to read for class? The blanket and stack of books were as she left them, free of dust. She knew Moira had kept the room clean for her. It almost seemed like she didn't deserve someone doing that for her.

Eira looked to the small window on the wall adjacent to the door. She remembered how many hours she spent watching people pass by on the cobbled street below. Some days she and Cerin would do it together. Some days they would read. Some days she would cry—mourning the then recent deaths of her parents and he would comfort her by holding her tight in his arms. They wouldn't exchange any words; a warm touch was all that was necessary.