I had not seen Isabel in several days, and when I did not see her out and about on a day as beautiful as this one I resolved to check on her. She did not answer my knock at her door, so I pushed it open. Before I could even call her name, I saw her lying in her bed in a tangled sprawl, and I went to kneel by her bed. I had not seen anyone this ill since the Bitterest Winter, and I resisted the impulse to panic.
"Isabel, it's Hyacinthe," I said quietly, pushing back her sweaty hair. "How long have you been like this?"
Recognizing Hyacinthe's voice, Isabel made a concerted effort to roll toward him. This only served to make her joints and muscles hurt even more, and Isabel cried out softly as a result.
Though she heard Hyacinthe's question, Isabel could not answer right away. Everything ached so much; it was hard to focus. Somehow, though, she forced herself to do it. Staring blearily over at him, she murmured, "A couple of hours."
"A few hours?" How was it possible that she had become so ill in such a short time? I felt her forehead, the pulse at her throat; she was terribly feverish even though she shivered as if she had a chill. "You should see one of the doctors in the clinic. I've never seen anyone this sick."
At mention of the clinic, Isabel gathered up what little strength she had, grabbing hold of Hyacinthe's hand. Her grip tightened as much as she could manage as her eyes widened. "No," she said wildly. "No clinic. I'll be okay, I swear. No clinic."
If she went to the clinic they'd draw her blood or something and then they'd find out what she was and that would be the end of everything. She couldn't go there. Couldn't.
"Please, Hyacinthe," she begged, "I can't go there. I'll be okay." Maybe if she said it enough times, she would be.
Comments 22
"Isabel, it's Hyacinthe," I said quietly, pushing back her sweaty hair. "How long have you been like this?"
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Though she heard Hyacinthe's question, Isabel could not answer right away. Everything ached so much; it was hard to focus. Somehow, though, she forced herself to do it. Staring blearily over at him, she murmured, "A couple of hours."
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If she went to the clinic they'd draw her blood or something and then they'd find out what she was and that would be the end of everything. She couldn't go there. Couldn't.
"Please, Hyacinthe," she begged, "I can't go there. I'll be okay." Maybe if she said it enough times, she would be.
Reply
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