Over the next two days, the fever dipped and climbed, but my health failed me. When congestion and cough invaded, you panicked and called the doctor. The new medicines made me woozy, so I napped through the hours, waking only when you roused me for meals or for bathing.

You always had a fresh set of clothes which fit me – they were a bit snug, though not uncomfortably so. I wondered who they belonged to, but I didn't ask. I also wondered where my own clothes were, and I did ask about them. You informed that you'd put them in the washer, including my underwear. Chagrined that you did my dirty laundry, I caused an argument of sorts. You insisted that it wasn't a big deal; I asserted that I knew how to work a washing machine, so I could wash my own clothes. You stepped away, calmly stating that we'd talk about this later. And as I wallowed in thought alone while you were at work, I saw how childish I was being. Nevertheless, I was much too stubborn to apologize.

By the afternoon of the third day, I was stronger and in better spirits. So, I drew my own bath and did my own laundry. Then I heated the lunch you'd left for me and wheeled into the balcony to soak in the sun. I liked the view I had here – the little tubs near the railing where you grew herbs, the road beyond that where people went up and down about their day, and the tattoos and curios salon across that attracted all stripes of strange customers.

Following lunch, I washed the dishes, dried them, and put them back in their cabinets. I wiped the kitchen island and counter clean. Finally, I took my meds and they knocked me out.

My eyelids fluttered open to humming. Sunbeams warmed my face, and the grass tickled my hands and feet. I turned my head in the direction of the sweet singing. Curtained by the flowy branches of a weeping willow, sat my mother. Her fingers deftly wove wild daisies together by their stalks. She looked up and waved for me to come over.

Clean summer breeze, the smell of wildflowers, grass stains on my trousers. The longest embrace, golden curls shimmering in the light, tender lips peppering me with kisses. I was crowned with the ring of daisies. "My beautiful Fae Prince," hummed Mum, "time to head back to the castle."

Floral print dresses, vanilla in the air, breathy laughter, and twinkling blue eyes. The feeling of digging my hands into wet earth, of running barefoot through lawns. The taste of muffins and pies, of pumpkin soup in fall evenings. The sounds of Mum singing softly by the fireplace, of her calling me to eat the raspberry scones she'd just baked.

Latin rolling off her tongue as she helped me with my assignment. Her elegant writing with corrections on my essays. Chamomile tea, cashew biscuits. Her loving hands fixing my hair and my bowtie for the promenade ball. "My darling Fae Prince, you'll charm the kingdom tonight."

Storm clouds roiling in the sky. Torrential rain, sleet-slicked cobbled lane. People dressed in black, pallbearers stepping in rhythm. A looming, somber church. I peeked into the open casket, my heart stilling as I saw Mum for the last time. Skin so pale and taut, her green-violet veins showed. Her blonde locks lost their luster, her face devoid of its joyful glow. Death etched itself into my mind.

Everything imploded.

Numbers. Alphabets. My higher secondary exam results. Average grades. Grand scores in Latin and World History – Mum's favorites. A red F marked Calculus.

Leather and velvet, the smell of books, a grand chandelier. My father stood leaning against his great grenadil desk. Dark eyes narrowed, he rolled his shirt sleeves.

Brutal punishment. Caustic vilification.

"Bastard. You fucking bastard!"

Torment. Hurt.

"You're not my son! I only kept you around for Reyna's sake."

Abused. Demonized.

"All you do is take."

Blamed for Mum's death. Blamed for Father's failing business.

My nineteenth birthday. Scotch bottles shattered. Beaten and thrashed.

Nightfall. And I ran.

Running through Mum's rose garden, through the lawns we used to play in. Running, running, running. Through the family estate, the woods where Mum coronated me Fae Prince, through the town I'd spent my whole life in. I ran until my calves screamed, my ankles protested, and my lungs burned. But I couldn't outrun Father's blight.

Escape. A syringe in my trembling hand. Exposed brick, cold dirt beneath, dim alleyway. A pinprick, a daze, innumerable phosphenes, weightlessness. A warping, a materialization. Father towered over me, twisted and glowering. "You vile scum," he rasped, "you worthless bastard."

His sneer contorted, his clawed hands reached for me. I ran again.

Bright lights. A screech. Unfathomable pain.

I bolted awake, drenched in icy perspiration. An agonizing stab lanced through my lower body.

"Viktor?" You were at my side. "What's wrong? You screamed."

I shook my head, unable to speak. There's nothing there, there's nothing there, I chanted mentally, trying to convince my body and mind that I had nothing where it hurt most. After a brief struggle with the blanket, I finally untangled it to reveal my stubs spasming and jerking.

"What's happening?" you asked.

Another twinge bolted through me, of crushed bones and torn muscles that did not exist anymore. A desperate cry warbled out as I clutched my legs to my chest, massaging the muscles of the right while the left shuddered. Squeezing and kneading my stubs one by one, I inhaled from my nose and exhaled from my mouth. There's nothing there, there's nothing there, there's nothing there.

"Oh my gosh, what's going on?" Your voice rose in pitch, ringing with distress. "What do you need?"

"Phantom pain," I answered through gritted teeth, barely suppressing a yelp. "It'll go away."

Wincing at a fresh stab, I bent my legs at the knees and straightened them, then repeated the action, exercising like I'd been taught. There's nothing there, there's nothing there, there's nothing there. Slowly, the pain subsided and the shaking died down to sporadic twitches.

"What can I do to help?"

We locked eyes. Yours were so full of fear and helplessness, I wanted to draw you into a hug and tell you everything was alright. Instead, I said, "some things can't be helped."   

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