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The way the sun flooded the room with indirect light told Filia it was sometime in the afternoon. With a soft groan, she shoved herself up into a sitting position, her head feeling thick and muzzy from too much sleep. She felt as though a bone-deep lethargy saturated every fiber of her being; and although the injuries had long since healed, the very concept of leaving the bed just made her feel all the more weary. The shadows were beginning to distort, adding extra length to the objects which cast them. Late afternoon, then. She yawned as she rubbed her eyes, then stared at the floor apathetically. For a few moments, she debated the merits of getting out of bed. Her hair felt heavy and dull from not having been washed for, what had it been? Slightly more than a week now? Two weeks? She wasn't sure, and she didn't care. The passage of time wasn't marked to her. It simply was, just like everything else in her life. Just there. Just existing. The idea of motion barely had a chance for a foothold in her will. No, maybe tomorrow -- just like yesterday and the day before that. Maybe tomorrow she'd consider it. Not today, though. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe then, things will be better. Maybe if she slept a little bit longer, the nightmare would be over. Maybe if she stayed in bed one more day, she would actually wake up next up, and everything would be right again. Tomorrow. Today, she would snuggle under the blankets again, and pull them up, over her head, over her mind, over her thoughts and sleep. Filia did not flinch when the door creaked on its hinges then clattered softly against the wall. She didn't push the covers away at the voice. When the various smells of dinner cooking in the kitchen when it wafted through the open door and permeated her blankets, she pressed her lips together at the faint twinge of nausea it produced. She simply wasn't hungry. No appetite. The odor of food harbored not the slightest bit of appeal. Her grip on the quilt was slack, and offered no resistance as it was abruptly pulled back to her waist. Filia shut her eyes tighter to block out the light, and then gloved hands seized her wrists. The grip was firm, but not painful, and she was pulled back into a sitting position. "Now, Miss Filia, you're quite recovered physically from your unfortunate incident." The familiar and obnoxiously cheerful voice grated in her ears, jarring her nerves. She cracked one eye open, glaring at him. "You're not doing yourself the least bit of good staying in bed all the time." "Go 'way," she growled, trying to lay back down. All she managed to do was simply sag back against his grip on her wrists. "I'm afraid I can't do that, Miss Filia. Now, are you going to get up and get dressed and come out to dinner yourself, or do I have to do it for you?" "I'm not hungry." "Oh, dear. Yes, I was afraid of that. Well, in that case..." Filia opened both eyes wide as she was pulled out of bed and to her feet, held steady for just barely long enough to get her footing, and then blinked as he started to raise her nightgown. She snapped her hands down her front, keeping it down the best she could as her face turned bright red. "You hentai namagomi! Get your hands off me!" she shrieked. Wildly, she looked around for mace-sama, which was nowhere in sight. "Then do it yourself. But you will get dressed, and you will leave this room." His tone was still obnoxiously cheerful, but there was a subtle undercurrent of steel, a warning that cautioned her not to test him further. "Fine," she mumbled, glaring at him as she took a step back. "Just get out." "I'm doing this for your own good, Miss Filia," he replied. "I simply hate to see my lovely dragon waste away for no good reason." "No good reason?" she repeated incredulously, blinking back the sting of hot tears. "How dare you?" She shivered as his eyes opened to slits, a chilling smile on his face. "Sore wa himitsu desu, Miss Filia. Now, do get dressed." He left the room, and the faint, ringing thud of the door as it shut made her jump. For a moment, she considered returning to bed, but knew it was folly. Left with no other recourse, she turned to her closet and rummaged through her dresses, finally settling on the only one which came even somewhat close to matching her mood. She pulled off her nightgown, then on went a lightweight, white cotton shift. Over that went an undyed gray woolen dress she wore for heavy cleaning projects. Filia twisted her dull, unwashed hair into a sloppy bun at the nape of her neck, securing it with a few pins, then stepped into plain, black shoes. It looked like a stranger stared back at her from the small mirror above her dresser; a woebegone ghost that one might find haunting a derelict mansion, haunting the halls with an eerie keening each night over some long-lost love. Her lips twisted wryly at the romanticized comparison. It certainly didn't feel too far off the mark, save for the fact her body at least still harbored a pulse. Filia suspected that Jillas and Gravos each had thoughts which perhaps followed a similar path to hers when they took in her appearance as she entered the kitchen. Although that feigned smile never seemed to falter, there was displeasure somewhere in Xellos' features that she couldn't quite pin down. "Has your waistline expanded too much for your regular attire, Miss Filia?" Xellos quipped as she sat down. "You really should watch your weight." Instead of getting angry, Filia merely ignored the jibe. "You told me to get dressed. I did," she replied dully. "What more do you want?" "I want you to stop acting like the silly dragon you've been, and snap out of it!" he said. "There is really no reason for these melodramatics." It was deathly silent at the table. Gravos paused in scooping some of the stew into his bowl. Filia kept her eyes fixed on a tiny knot in the wooden table, just breathing. Finally, she was certain she had the sob in her throat under enough control to manage speech. "I wouldn't expect a worthless Mazoku like yourself to know the first thing about these so-called melodramatics," she said caustically. Silence. "I see." His tone was far too even, too dangerous. "So you would rather bide your time with someone who would beat you to death? I would expect such weak-minded actions from a vapid, uneducated, human woman, but not from my little dragon." "I am not your little dragon," she hissed, not moving her head as she lifted her eyes, glaring at him through her lashes. He met her gaze with a slitted glare of his own. Silence. Suddenly, the closed-eyed smile was firmly back in place. "You might wish to consider returning to your shop tomorrow," Xellos said, as if nothing had taken place. Filia shivered slightly at the startling and abrupt change in topic. "Your customers are wondering what has become of you." "I'll consider it," she mumbled woodenly, turning her attention to the bowl of food Jillas had put before her. They ate in silence for several more minutes, or rather, Jillas and Gravos did. Xellos merely sat at the table, smiling innocently as he sipped his tea, and Filia made a few halfhearted stabs at her stew. "Want me to draw up a hot bath for you after supper, oneesan?" Jillas asked softly. Filia considered it, then nodded. "I'd appreciate that." He beamed, pleased to have something he could do for, and patted her arm. "Yes, you really shouldn't be letting yourself go like this, Miss Filia," Xellos said. "That half-breed isn't worth your time." The metal spoon bent under Filia's convulsively tight grip. "Shut up, namagomi," she hissed. Xellos twitched. When he spoke, his tone was deceptively pleasant, but there was an undercurrent which chilled her. "I would not say such things if I were you." Filia wondered why neither Jillas nor Gravos were saying a word in her defense, but at the same time she was glad for it. Neither of them would stand a chance against Xellos, and she was petrified that he might consider them superfluous. Finally, she pushed her half-empty bowl away. She had no appetite for food to begin with, and the tension in the room tied her stomach into knots. "I'll draw up that bath for you," Jillas said, picking up their bowls and carrying them from the table. "Thank you, Jillas." Filia stood, and wordlessly left the kitchen, retiring to her bedroom to get a clean robe. The snap of the door shutting made her jump and whirl about, and he was already there, his arms impossibly tight around her. Filia couldn't breathe, both from fear and the restraint, as his eyes opened. "You seem to have difficulty remembering who I am, Miss Filia." His voice was soft and smooth. "How could I forget what you are, nama--" She gasped in pain as his grip tightened to the point where she feared a broken rib. He said nothing at first, then trailed a fingertip down her cheek, looking her over as if considering something. "I do believe a fox pelt coat would look lovely on you." Filia felt nauseated. "You wouldn't..." Xellos merely smiled. "Perhaps I might, if you need a reminder of your proper place." "Why won't you just leave?" she whispered. "Leave? Whyever for? You need me here, Miss Filia, not only to protect you against those who would harm you, but other Mazoku as well. You are a solitary Golden dragon, and a lovely target." Filia closed her eyes. "Let me go, please?" "But of course, Miss Filia," he said cheerfully. "You need only but ask." His arms vanished, and as she cautiously opened her eyes, she found she was alone in her room once more. Filia sank down onto the bed, shuddering violently as adrenaline and fear caught up with her, and curled into a fetal ball, hugging a pillow to her chest. How long she stayed like that, she wasn't sure, but a knock at the door made her jump. "What?" "Oneesan, your bath is ready," Jillas called. "Is everything all right?" "Yes." She hoped her voice didn't waver as she got up, collecting a change of clothes. "Thank you, Jillas," she told him as she opened the door. He beamed cheerfully. "You're welcome, oneesan." On impulse, she hugged Jillas tightly for a moment, then retreated to the bath without another word. |
to be continued...
Chapter Three