Page 50 of The Demon and the Broken Girl

She curls into me, tears mingling with raindrops, her eyes pressed closed around the shards. Blood still oozes gently from the corners. I cradle her head, careful not to touch the glassfragments.This can’t be happening.I try once more to channel a healing incantation, but my magic flickers, spent.I’m too weak, the curse too deep.The shards seem to resist my efforts, embedding themselves in her eyes with necrotic malice. She whimpers, face contorted in agony.

Hopelessness sinks in. My mouth goes dry, words failing me. She’s lost her sight, we’ve gained no answers, and House Vaerathis remains a looming threat. “I’m sorry,” I rasp, voice cracking. I don’t even know if she hears me above the drizzle and her own pain. “I’m so sorry, Calla.”

She trembles against my chest, fingers fisting in my torn cloak. “I c-can’t see,” she repeats, desperation choking her voice. “What… what do we do?”

I shake my head, heart twisting. “We get away from here,” I manage. “We find shelter, somewhere to heal.” My mind scrambles for a plan. Maybe if we can find a skilled healer, mortal or otherwise, though I suspect no normal magic can remove these shards. The mirror’s curse lingers, a legacy of that ancient tyrant. My blood boils at the thought.He’s taken her sight now, while he still hunts for me, for us.

Gritting my teeth, I push myself upright and pull her gently with me. My vision swims, blood still seeping from my side, but I cling to consciousness.I must remain standing—for her.She leans heavily on me, tears streaking the grime on her cheeks. We stumble away from the collapsed ruins, each step a fragile attempt to survive.

Somewhere behind us, the faint echoes of dark elves fade, drowned by the wind and rain. We slip into the darkness, battered and defeated, no triumphant escape to show. Just two wounded souls, haunted by curses and illusions of hope. The bond between us throbs with mutual anguish, heavier than ever.

She clings to my arm, stumbling over unseen rocks, each misstep tearing a soft cry from her lips. My chest tightens withguilt, anger, and something dangerously close to love.I swore I’d protect her, but now look at her—blind, wounded, broken.If I had told her everything sooner, if I hadn’t insisted on searching these worthless ruins…

We keep moving, slow and grim, until the rains intensify. A small cave in a rocky cliff appears through the gloom, and I half-carry Calla inside, nearly collapsing from relief. The shelter is shallow, but enough to keep out the downpour. We drop to the ground. I tear strips of cloth to bind my injuries, though I can do little about the crossbow bolt’s venom still coursing through my veins.

Calla lies there, curled on her side, silent tears soaking the bandage I place gently over her eyes. My breath shudders with every movement. I want to offer comfort, but the weight of our situation crushes me.What do I say? That it’ll be okay? I can’t even promise that.

At last, I find my voice in the dim, flickering shadows of stormlight. “We’ll rest,” I whisper. “We’ll… find help. I swear it.”

She doesn’t answer right away. Then she lets out a low, broken laugh that stabs at my heart. “Help? Where, Daeva? No one can fix this. The shards are cursed—my eyes are gone.” Her voice trembles with despair.

I close my eyes, fresh guilt choking me. My wounds burn, and I cradle her trembling hand. “I’ll find a way,” I insist, though it sounds hollow. My words ring with desperation rather than certainty.

Silence settles, punctuated by the steady drumming of rain. She drifts in and out of consciousness, pain and exhaustion dragging her down. I stay by her side, ignoring my own injuries as best I can, forcing myself to remain awake.I can’t let the darkness claim us both.

Time crawls. Lightning flares occasionally, illuminating the cave. Calla whimpers, turning her face against the stone. Ismooth her damp hair away from her brow, hating how feeble my attempts at comfort are.If only I had enough power to undo the mirror’s curse. If only I’d found a solution in these ruins, or told her the truth sooner.Regrets swirl, threatening to drown me.

Eventually, in the dead of night, the storm lightens, and my gaze drifts to her slumbering form. My own eyelids sag, each breath a reminder of the crossbow bolt lodged near my ribs, the sword slash in my shoulder. We’re both grievously injured. Yet, for all our pain, the worst wound is what’s taken from Calla—her sight, her hope.

Despite my agony, I vow to keep watch until dawn. The world outside the cave is a black void of driving rain, cold wind howling. We’re defeated, battered, forced to cower. And yet, something fierce refuses to let me surrender.She’s blind, but I’m still alive. As long as I draw breath, I’ll find a way to restore her vision or at least ensure she survives. No matter how bleak this is, I can’t abandon her to despair.

I wrap my cloak around her, gently leaning her against my chest so she won’t shiver so badly. Her breathing stabilizes somewhat. The bond hums with sorrow. Carefully, I press a trembling kiss to her damp hair, letting my eyes close. If she were awake, she might question this moment of tenderness. But I can’t withhold it anymore, not when every heartbeat might be our last.

“I’m sorry,” I breathe into the silence, the confession lost in the patter of rain. “I promise… I won’t stop trying.”

Her fingers twitch around my cloak, as if gripping a lifeline. My heart squeezes. In her unconscious state, she mutters a faint sound, half my name, half a plea. I hold her closer, ignoring the sting in my side, tears blurring my vision. The ghost of what I feel for her, the guilt and yearning, the bitter truth of my curse—they coil into a singular resolve.

Tomorrow, we awaken maimed and lost. But tomorrow, I’ll begin anew, scouring the world for a way to restore her sight, to break this chain that would see us both destroyed. Even if it means confronting the darkest corners of Protheka or returning to Vaerathis with a blade at the ancestor’s throat.She gave up everything to stand by me—her freedom, her human soul, even her eyes.I owe her more than empty regrets.

Outside, thunder rumbles, the storm’s fury waning. In the flicker of sporadic lightning, I glimpse the battered woman in my arms, a stark reminder that I’ve failed her so far. My mind drifts to the monstrous reflection in the mirror, the old tyrant’s mocking laugh.He thinks he’s won.But as I lean my forehead gently against Calla’s, a simmering rage blooms in my chest—a vow of vengeance, tempered by the realization that I can’t pursue it at the cost of her life. Not anymore.I choose her.

So I keep watch, ignoring the blood that seeps from my wounds, ignoring the tremors that threaten to drag me under. When dawn finally creeps across the sky, pale and cold, I remain awake, cradling Calla’s hand in mine. We’re broken, hunted, half-blind and half-dead. I finally find a spark that drives me beyond hate and self-destruction—a spark I’ll do anything to protect.

No matter what the ancient ancestor has planned, no matter how he hunts us with cursed mirrors and dark elves, I’ll tear the entire House Vaerathis down if it means saving her.She’s lost her sight, but I’ll be her eyes until we find a cure.If we fail, at least we’ll fail side by side, defying fate’s cruelty to our last breaths. It may not be hope in the purest sense, but it’s enough to keep my heart beating for one more day.

13

CALLA

Iwake to the slow drip of rain through the thatched roof. The droplets plink on the dusty floorboards, a steady, hollow rhythm that burrows into my skull. Beneath it, my chest aches with each breath, and my bandaged eyes sting. It takes me a moment to remember where I am, to recall that the warm presence by my side—Daeva—has once again risen and left me alone.

Everything is black. That’s my world now—a curtain of ink that won’t lift, even when I blink. No shapes, no colors, only an unrelenting void that taunts me every time I try to shift my head. If I concentrate, I can sense a faint difference in the direction of the light; the left side of my face might be marginally warmer, but it offers no comfort. I’m as good as lost.

I exhale shakily. My tears come unbidden, and I feel the thick, sticky warmth of blood weeping from beneath the cloth that covers my ruined eyes. The pain is constant—a low throb that spikes whenever I move too fast. I try not to cry, but the tears slip free anyway. They course down my cheeks, mixing with the slow, searing drip of blood.

I lift a trembling hand, gingerly pressing against the bandage. My fingertips come away slick.Another day of the same.The hut around me—though I cannot see it—reeks of mildew and old wood. The walls must be sagging, judging by how the wind rattles them in the night. When Daeva found this place, we were both on the edge of collapse. A roof, however faulty, was better than open sky.

I’m not sure how long we’ve been here—perhaps a full day, maybe two. Time slipped away after the frantic flight from the cave and the mirror’s shattering. My memories are tangled in fever and pain, anchored only by the echo of Daeva’s voice, the warmth of his hands dressing my wounds. The guilt in his tone whenever he speaks…

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