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An amok is the lifeforce of every senti being, similar to the mitochondria being the powerhouse of every cell. But what if the essence keeping you alive breaks?
Felix was living, until he wasn’t.
The opposite of life is death, but the opposite of living isn’t dying: it's severe ME/CFS — the cracks along the silver band, deep fissures that stand between him and human interaction, between him and any chance to make meaningful memories. Dooming him to a horrific fate.
Severe ME/CFS is a custom-made prison. Everything becomes impossible, from drinking to eating, from sitting up to speaking a word; everything becomes intolerable, be it light or sound or any sensory stimulation at all.
He’s reminded of Emilie, trapped in a glass capsule, locked away in the basement. A suffering body, hidden from the world; a broken vessel on the edge of life. He wonders if it's their Graham de Vanily curse to be the twin lying in pure solitary confinement — maybe it’s a hereditary one.
★★★★★
Monsters can take the form of an illness as easily as they take that of a man. The old monster was named Colt; the new one is called ME/CFS, five letters that have been haunting him relentlessly.
It’s one more letter than before.
Felix craves human contact, but cannot bear anything beyond what is strictly necessary to his survival. Visitors other than his mum, confined to a caregiver role, are few and far between — relationships he once nurtured, but now perceives as a source of turmoil.
Mum stays a few minutes at most, approaching his bed as quietly as an angel and changing the bag to his feeding tube without a word. It’s hard to see in the darkened room, but she knows her way by heart. She is a blessing, like she’s always been, and her devotion remains unmatched: along with a few trusted loved ones and his feeding tube, she is the only thing keeping him earthbound.
Felix longs to express his gratitude, to express anything at all: the last time he could speak, “L O V E” were the four letters he settled on. It feels like an eternity ago — time doesn’t flow for him anymore; but she keeps track of their highly-treasured “conversations” for them, and doodled a little peacock on the kitchen’s calendar four days ago. Duusu marks the moments he can hold her hand, even rarer, a small pawprint pressed against a handful of days each year.
★★★★★
Adrien is an orphan now, and has moved to their apartment in London: he can only visit his favorite cousin once a week, precious wordless seconds spent simply sitting by his bedside.
Felix’s reaction is… ambivalent. Knowing his twin is healthy and free is a blessing, but every encounter reminds him of his own curse: they might be identical, but their paths have taken drastically different turns.
Love might not require words, but living does — words, emotions, actions, they’re made of everything that's inaccessible to him. His existence is incompatible with living.
★★★★★
Kagami comes around once a month. She’s been confronted with an impossible task: bringing life to someone who is unable to live, ensuring her presence by his side despite his isolation and disabilities.
It was her very first gift to him when he started being confined to his bed: a small, hand-crafted glass chessboard, painted in red and blue. Every time she visits, she adds a new piece — dragon and peacock figurines that glow softly in the dark. Not bright enough to cause him pain, but just enough to remain visible for the eyes, not just for the heart.
★★★★★
His mum’s only been there for four minutes, but his symptoms are already worsening; he snuggles his bunny plushie closer, hoping she will be done very soon. It’s a gift from Adrien, a nostalgic reference to his dear childhood rabbit: the soft fur is a welcome comfort, a much needed company.
The greatest gifts his mum offers him are her tenderness, her unconditional love and care. They found a permanent incarnation in his room through another present of hers: beautiful peacock-shaped fairy lights she hung on the wall near his bed. They illuminate the room just a little, just enough to reveal her weak smile and adoring eyes.
Once the fresh feeding tube bag is secured, Amelie silently leaves his room to slip into the other one — bright, colorful, filled with life. Adrien has picked up many hobbies, owning his personality for the first time in his life, with endless possibilities to choose from.
"How are his symptoms today?" He asks, concern seeping through the rethorical question.
"The usual," his aunt sighs sorrowfully, setting down two cups of tea. "If anything a little worse.”
They sit in silence then, grieving together, wondering. Is it their Graham de Vanily destiny to be the living twin — alive and all too aware of the horrors their match endures? Is it their fate to suffer in ways the world doesn't understand?