Yes, of course. You've asked me to stay. [ Phya gives an affirmative nod even if he cannot see the notion. ] Now, please. Rest.
[ She continues to hold his hand until he finally does manage to drift into slumber. Her hands let go of his before quickly moving to the door. There, she is greeted once more by the steward and head maid. She quickly explains the situation. Their surprise and slight confusion can be felt rather than seen. Phya merely looks down. She has no proper way to explain a potential ancient bond between her and their lord. An arrangement is regardless struck on what is needed to keep Aymeric on the mend.
Then, she is left to her own.
Phya walks through the master suite. Certain items--paintings, decorations--all stand out to her. A soft bell or chime in her mind rings in familiarity even if she cannot pull the full memories to mind. Her ears tilt down and she twists her fingers together. How is she ever to stand against the memory of... herself?
More than once she looks at herself in the mirror in the room. How dainty she is, how small, how... nearly wild she must look compared to a neat and kept woman of the court. A type of woman he surely deserves and should be with given his station. Not only a knight, a Lord of Ishgard, but the Lord Commander. No wonder remains her mind then as to why her knight never appeared. He had far too many pressing matters and things in a life to command. They out rank her reborn into such a sickly body. Even if now is one of her better spells.
He shifts on the bed at one point and Phya races over. He turns away in his sleep and that is when she catches something that she should have remembered on her own. A fang is visible as he groans and she feels her body freeze. A cold spell takes her. Of course there are always rumors of what voidsent roam in the night--especially the kind she finds herself in realization of seeing before her.
Then, the guilt truly settles in her.
Not only had she died and left her beloved behind... she left him in a miserable existence. Not being a lord or a knight.
As a vampire.
Her hands lower, she looks at the ground. Ears press to her head and her tail stills. Everything seems to make sense in her mind then. How an Elezen can look so young after so long. Why guilt and loneliness consumed her. Why he would refuse so many healers... and why Estinien had believed her to be the only one to understand his "condition" as he called it.
Phya closes her eyes. Hands curl into her robes for a moment before she turns and heads to the door to the bedroom. Potions and alchemy will only aid his recovery to a point. She will need to do something else, even as she is certain any healer she had ever met would be horrified. She opens the door and calls for the head maid, asking for a cup to be brought. Confusion lingers on the staff once more but a cup is brought regardless. Phya thanks her before setting to the other side of the room.
The cup is placed on the mantle. A knife is pulled from her robes. The silver blade pierces her arm and blood drips into the cup. Something tells her that he will refuse it no matter how much she insists. Still, she must at least try.
Her fingers graze the wound and seal the injury. No trace of it is left. She cleans the knife with a towel then returns once more to the bed. The cup is placed on the bedside table and her hands raise to his shoulder. Then, a hand to Aymeric's face. She guides him back to her. ]
Ser, [ she still feels he has yet to give her permission to even call his name, ] I need to change your bandages... and you need to eat.
no subject
[ She continues to hold his hand until he finally does manage to drift into slumber. Her hands let go of his before quickly moving to the door. There, she is greeted once more by the steward and head maid. She quickly explains the situation. Their surprise and slight confusion can be felt rather than seen. Phya merely looks down. She has no proper way to explain a potential ancient bond between her and their lord. An arrangement is regardless struck on what is needed to keep Aymeric on the mend.
Then, she is left to her own.
Phya walks through the master suite. Certain items--paintings, decorations--all stand out to her. A soft bell or chime in her mind rings in familiarity even if she cannot pull the full memories to mind. Her ears tilt down and she twists her fingers together. How is she ever to stand against the memory of... herself?
More than once she looks at herself in the mirror in the room. How dainty she is, how small, how... nearly wild she must look compared to a neat and kept woman of the court. A type of woman he surely deserves and should be with given his station. Not only a knight, a Lord of Ishgard, but the Lord Commander. No wonder remains her mind then as to why her knight never appeared. He had far too many pressing matters and things in a life to command. They out rank her reborn into such a sickly body. Even if now is one of her better spells.
He shifts on the bed at one point and Phya races over. He turns away in his sleep and that is when she catches something that she should have remembered on her own. A fang is visible as he groans and she feels her body freeze. A cold spell takes her. Of course there are always rumors of what voidsent roam in the night--especially the kind she finds herself in realization of seeing before her.
Then, the guilt truly settles in her.
Not only had she died and left her beloved behind... she left him in a miserable existence. Not being a lord or a knight.
As a vampire.
Her hands lower, she looks at the ground. Ears press to her head and her tail stills. Everything seems to make sense in her mind then. How an Elezen can look so young after so long. Why guilt and loneliness consumed her. Why he would refuse so many healers... and why Estinien had believed her to be the only one to understand his "condition" as he called it.
Phya closes her eyes. Hands curl into her robes for a moment before she turns and heads to the door to the bedroom. Potions and alchemy will only aid his recovery to a point. She will need to do something else, even as she is certain any healer she had ever met would be horrified. She opens the door and calls for the head maid, asking for a cup to be brought. Confusion lingers on the staff once more but a cup is brought regardless. Phya thanks her before setting to the other side of the room.
The cup is placed on the mantle. A knife is pulled from her robes. The silver blade pierces her arm and blood drips into the cup. Something tells her that he will refuse it no matter how much she insists. Still, she must at least try.
Her fingers graze the wound and seal the injury. No trace of it is left. She cleans the knife with a towel then returns once more to the bed. The cup is placed on the bedside table and her hands raise to his shoulder. Then, a hand to Aymeric's face. She guides him back to her. ]
Ser, [ she still feels he has yet to give her permission to even call his name, ] I need to change your bandages... and you need to eat.