Chapter Text
D3rlord3 laid in the bed Avery had so generously crafted for him, in the house he so generously let him stay in even after healing his injuries, (most being on his hands from breaking stone with his bare fists) staring at the wall as he had been doing for the good half of the last three days.
Sometimes Avery brought him food or drink, which he would eat and leave the plate/bowl to sit on the nightstand until Avery took it back. He almost felt guilty, actually, scratch that, felt very guilty, and disgusted with himself, for making him do so much when he was more than capable, but he couldn’t bring himself to change his ways, and so he laid down and stared at the wall.
Every once in a while he would get flashbacks—if they could even be called that—to random things the knowledge the King cursed him with. Sometimes it was just trivia or song lyrics. Other times it was something so horrible it made his stomach hurt, yet he ignored the stabbing pain every time, what could he really do about it, anyway?
If he could do something about it, would he?
He had spent the last three days wasting away in a bed someone else had to make for him, only sustained by eating food someone else had to make for him.
God, he had become pathetic, hadn’t he?
He used to enjoy learning, having picked up on many random topics and being proficient in a few languages, he used to have such a hunger for knowledge and a curiosity that drove him to answer his never ending questions about the world
But curiousity had killed the cat, and satisfaction couldn’t bring it back this time, nothing was satisfying about what he’d seen, what now haunted him for the rest of his mortal life.
Was there even point in living the rest of that life, if he knew what it would all entail?
Is there a point to any of this?
He’d recover just enough to not waste away soon, and then he’d look back and feel just as disgusted as he did now, and that made his stomach hurt worse.
Not that he thought he could ever truly recover, anyway. The horrors he’d been subjected to would haunt him until the day he died, whether by his hands or someone else’s, he knew his fate in the moment, but he also knew fate was ever changing.
He spared a glance at the leads thrown in the chest across the room that Avery kept for his horses, but made no actual move to grab the rope. He didn’t think it was currently in him to do anything but eat, sleep, and slowly waste away.
He swallowed hard, moving only to grab the water from the stand as he took into account of how dehydrated he had become in however long he had lost himself in his thoughts, time had become such a blur, even knowing how much had passed meant nothing much to him. He drank the rest of the bottle and let it sit, knowing Avery would end up collecting it later.
He laid back down and returned to his very interesting activity of staring blankly at the wall and letting his mind swim.
Avery would bring up food soon, he would try to converse yet again, and D3rlord3 would ignore him until he left again, as he had grown accustomed to the routine. There was no point in trying to talk about any of the things on his mind anyway, Avery would never understand, let alone begin to relate.
No point in talking, no point in trying to recover, no point in trying to take anything into his own hands, be it his own life, or his own death.
He let the stabbing pain settle in his stomach and sat up slightly as he heard footsteps coming up the stairs.
“Brought some soup, are you going to talk this time, or just stare…?”
Just stare, he thought to answer, no words actually came out.
But maybe, just maybe, he would give in someday.
Who knows, maybe Avery could convince him into talking.
Maybe he could recover, unlikely as it is.
Only time would tell.