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Something is wrong. I shouldn’t be here. Why does it hurt so badly?!
Rishe stared at her bare stomach through the mirror before her, wondering why her stomach felt as if it were tearing itself in two. It burned as if a thousand fire ants thought to chew their way through her body and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
Five years ago on this very day, Rishe had died by a sword stabbing straight through her abdomen, where she was left to bleed out through the panicked streets. She had certainly felt pains and aches before, most of which she associated with that time of the month, but this was different.
She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t stop the pain no matter what herbal remedy she took, and when she looked at herself in the mirror she didn’t understand why her stomach remained unmarked when it burned so dearly. She felt as if she were dying once more, that she was about to bleed out all over again. But she wasn’t dying. Nothing had struck her. She was still very much alive despite the horrors of what happened before.
She begged the goddess to take away the agony, to save her from whatever phantom that tormented her now. But no relief ever came.
Why?
____________
“Apprentice, how are you faring?” Michel asked, tilting his head curiously at Rishe.
Rishe took a shallow breath, turning to face her master with as bright a smile she could muster in her current circumstance. “Everything is going well! I believe I am close to discovering the components of this new compound.”
“How exciting. Do notify me when you are finished then.”
“Absolutely!” Rishe nodded, determination in her gaze before she turned back to her desk.
Rishe had devised a scale from 1 to 10 to rate her pain that would help her know how hard she would be able to push herself throughout the day. More-often-than-not the scale remained at the lowest level of 1 where she would feel little to no pain at all from her previous stab wounds. Sometimes, though, the aches would reach a 6 or 7 never reaching the same level of 10 as it had in her last life on the day of her original death.
Today was a 4, and though she could feel a sharp stinging sensation akin to that of a sharp needle poking at her back constantly, she could still work. Prince Kyle was counting on her, and she couldn’t give up that trust for something that didn’t even exist. Phantom pains from wounds she no longer bore. It was ridiculous really.
Sometimes, when the pain became almost unbearable, she would stare at herself in the mirror for hours waiting to see the scar of the wounds reemerge if only to give her mind solace or reason for why her body felt as if it were dying all over again. But nothing ever revealed itself.
It didn’t matter though. She had work to do, and that work was far more important than this. Then again, with the knowledge she has now, maybe she could run experiments to see when and why these phantom pains occurred. If she knew that, maybe she could stop them altogether!
With that thought in mind, Rishe set to finish her current assignment so that she might begin and log her newest experiments immediately after.
____________
Rishe’s body burned, her lungs felt blackened and raw, her head clouded and light.
“Rishe!” Raul’s voice echoed in her mind, but she was too weak to do anything.
Though the feeling of her body being consumed in flames—nerves buzzing beneath her skin—was what consumed her thoughts. She could still feel the sharp poking at her abdomen and back, could still feel the reminder that she shouldn’t be alive; and yet she was.
Rishe thought she had more time, she could hardly remember the exact day of each of her deaths anymore, yet she had found that it seemed to trigger the pain to raise to 10 on her scale. The closer the date to her deaths the more constant and intense the pain of that death became. Today was the day she had died in the church of Domana. The day her body was left to be consumed in flames after she had lost consciousness from all of the smoke that had entered the air.
Her body should have been blackened and red. Blisters should have swelled and littered her arms and body. Ashes scattered in her hair. Cinders burned into the hollow of her throat. But like always, there was nothing to show for it.
Raul dabbed at her face with a cool cloth, but it did nothing to dull the heat that consumed her whole.
She wanted to speak, to reassure him that this would pass, that she would live and be alright. But her throat was closed. She was forced silent from fumes that she hadn’t even experienced, at least, not this time.
Rishe wondered, if she killed herself now, would things restart again, or would they end at last? Would she feel the pain of a knife to her throat, or would her suffering be put away at long last?
Of course she wasn’t in her right mind when these thoughts occurred, but it didn’t matter. She was far too weak to even think of moving let alone taking her life. Besides, someone needed to look out for Raul.
He was too reckless and she was one of the only truly trained medics in the troupe. She would make it through this pain as well as all the others to come despite this torture. There was still so much she wanted to do!
____________
“Rishe?” Arnold called, tilting his head slightly.
“Yes?” Rishe asked, turning to face her husband with a gentle smile. She hoped it was genuine enough to hide her mild discomfort. Her chest ached immensely, but when she had looked in the mirror that morning, searching for a scar where her heart had been run through, she saw nothing. Even after all these years her mind simply could not comprehend the bareness of her body when all of the pain she felt told her that something should be there. That something was missing.
Arnold paused their stroll through the garden, turning to face Rishe completely. “Would you like to rest?”
“Huh?”
“You appear…unwell.”
Rishe tried to laugh it off, hide the pain as best she could like she always had before; yet nothing could get past Arnold’s observant gaze.
“There is a bench nearby, we’ll stop there.” Arnold decided, taking her hand in his own so that he could guide her there quickly.
“I am alright, Your Highness. There is truly no need to fret,” Rishe tried to reason, but Arnold had already made up his mind.
While she loathed to admit it, she was truly grateful for the break that allowed her to catch her breath from the ceaseless pain.
“You’re not injured, are you?” Rishe stifled a flinch when Arnold scanned her. Something in her demeanor nonetheless made him take a step back, giving her space. “Did you strain a muscle, or cut yourself?”
“I’m not injured,” Rishe reassured. It was the truth, and somehow the words were still clunky in her mouth. “I’m not sick either, Your Highness.”
“You should still see a physician,” Arnold said, brow furrowed in worry. “You might just not be aware that something has happened. What were you doing yesterday?”
Sometime else, Rishe might laugh and say that she had been with Arnold the entire day, yesterday; that if she was somehow injured and he hadn’t noticed, then perhaps his senses were beginning to fail him. She couldn’t, though. There was no blade in her heart, but Arnold had still run her through all the way and punctured her lung. It was rather impossible to speak.
Mouth clamped shut, assailed by a cold pain that froze through her chest and stuck in a body that wasn’t who Rishe had been only a year or so ago. Rishe stared up at Arnold and suddenly wished she had a sword if only to challenge him. It was ridiculous, it was irrational, and it was his fault–yet at the same time it had nothing to do with him as he was now. Why hadn’t he killed her? Why wasn’t she bleeding out on the castle floors? Why wasn’t she being trampled in the streets, why wasn’t she collapsed in a tent on the battlefield, why wasn’t she dizzy with smoke?
Rishe shifted back on the bench, and clasped her hands in her lap. There were calluses on her palms: small ones, new ones, but at least they were present. Her chest ached but it deserved to, you couldn’t get stabbed and walk away. You couldn’t spend five years of living only for it to all vanish. And if by some miracle you did sidestep death six times, what did that make you?
It wasn’t a pleasant thought.
____________
It wasn't a common phenomenon, nor was it particularly severe most of the time. Rishe now knew it truly was related to her deaths, which meant there was no point in discussing it.
But that feeling of strangeness only increased. As did the need to see herself—her body—in the mirror. She still looked like her youth, she looked like her childhood: soft, smooth, and unvarnished. Pink hair and green eyes and pale skin, colors befitting of a doll: thin arms, small shoulders, a body that could be picked up and set on a shelf. A sharp pang of revulsion shuddered through her at the thought. Rishe had lived six lives, so who was the doppelganger staring at her in the mirror? Who was this fake that stood in her place?
Mostly, it wasn't a problem. Most of the time, she could turn away and go about her business: she could tell herself that in time she would grow again, she would develop muscles and scars and stretch marks once more. But now she clutched to her stomach, eyes squeezed shut in agony.
There was no blade to be found, there wasn't any blood trickling through her fingers. Her life remained steadfastly in place and Rishe thought that it wasn't supposed to be, that her body should have been giving out at this point, that this wasn't her body if it was still stubbornly alive. Being in this skin was suffocating, dissonant.
Weak-kneed and doubled over from pain, Rishe finally sank down onto the floor, slamming her head into the wall. The thudding impact and the smear of pain were easier to think about. Actions had consequences: here was one clear example of that. She should have been covered in scars and burns.
Eventually, it subsided down to a prickling, hollow ache. Rishe still didn't move, feeling as though she would vomit if she so much as twitched. Looking down at the skin that apparently belonged to her, at the shape of the body wrapped in one of her old dresses, only made her miserable, so she closed her eyes. Just a moment, she told herself. One moment to not be completely alien. It wouldn’t be more than a moment.
____________
Help me. Rishe thought desperately, the sound of rushing feet echoing around bringing her mind back to the streets of her very first death. I’ve been stabbed, won’t anybody help me? Don’t leave me alone, please. I don’t want to die again, not alone!
The sound of her door bursting open echoed throughout the room. Her heart lurched into motion again. her skin burned, begging for her to scratch away the pain until everything was raw, and red, and gone. Familiar steps and an overbearing presence surrounded her, but Rishe was too late in jerking back up: she could do little else than watch his approach.
“Rishe! You-–” Arnold pointed to one of her maids—”go grab the physician.”
“Yes, Your Majesty!”
Rishe let her mind wander, float off somewhere distant and far away, in part to avoid the pain. The surrounding movements dulled down, as though she was watching them from underwater. Her body shrank down to a collection of limbs and pieces, certainly unrelated to who she was, certainly unrelated to any lingering pains.
However much Rishe disliked it, there was nothing to be done but sit and accept it. This was just part of what it meant, to be an interloper. She wasn’t injured. She had outpaced death. It was not much of a price for being allowed to live again and again.
There was a weight placed over her shoulders, something steady bringing her back to the reality of her painful existence. She wanted to fight against it. She didn’t want to go back, not yet when the pain would still be there, waiting to drag her back into its gaping maw once more. But she wasn’t allowed a choice.
“-ere’s no’ing wrong ‘ith Her ‘ajes-” Words were floating around her now, coming in and out of her consciousness like waves.
“I ‘n’t pay for inc’tence,”
It was loud, and she didn’t understand why the world couldn't just stand still and be silent. Was it that difficult? Rishe blinked, and blinked again, and then there was space in front of her. Then there was nobody around, then it was so quiet she could have heard dust settling.
Pleasantly hollow, pleasantly numb, Rishe found that she was leaning back against the wall. It took some time, but she noticed the weighted slide of fabric over her bare arms. Her cheek was warmed by a ray of sunlight. Her neck prickled: it was her nails, pulling pink scratches down her skin.
Something clasped firmly around her wrists, pressing gently against her palms, keeping them from continuing. There was a pull, leading them to press against something hard and firm. She could feel the rise and fall of it beneath her palms, the constant beat of something that settled in her chest.
Her throat felt raw, she couldn’t see anything—her eyes squeezed shut—she didn’t remember where she was. Who she was. Which skin was this?
Was she supposed to harvest herbs today? No. Professor Michel probably made some strange concoction and Rishe would have to make sure it didn’t spill over soon. No. Did she forget to wake up Joel? Her captain would push her into extra drills. Or was Raul looking for her? Was he injured again? Did one of the kids scrape their knees? Rishe had to check in on them soon.
No. None of it. None of it fit properly!
“Rishe?” The voice was gentle, but pressing. It asked some question Rishe knew existed, but couldn’t decipher: and even if she understood, Rishe doubted she would be able to answer it.
“Come back to me.”
Come back? What am I supposed to return to? I have nothing left.
Whatever was clasped around her wrists stiffened slightly, but she couldn’t decipher why.
“Of course you do.”
Strange. She couldn’t recall returning anywhere. Body to body, time to time, life to life, everything stripped down to only her memories: well, there was no point in ‘returning’.
“So you’d abandon your husband? That seems cruel.”
Something was tracing circles against the back of her hands.
Husband? I’m married?
“Is it truly that easy to forget?”
“Mm,” Rishe mumbled. “When did I…”
“Four years ago.”
Four years ago, so it had been four years at least since she returned, and somehow she had married someone in that time of her own volition. When she focused, cracking her eyes open slightly, she could see the blue gleam of a ring.
“Mostly.”
What was that supposed to mean?
A pause.
“Are you hurt?”
Hurt?
Slowly, feeling returned to limbs, whatever pain she had felt earlier reduced to an echo of what it was before. She felt as if she’d been crushed by her own mortar and pestle, her body trembling slightly, weak and not fully ready to move. But nothing really hurt. Distantly, Rishe wondered how long that would last.
“Deep breath, Rishe. Focus on me.”
“Who-“ Rishe began, only to be stopped by a cough tearing itself from her throat. It burned. It reminded her of churches and forests, of blackened smoke and all-encompassing, inescapable heat.
“I can’t breathe,” she managed through a wheeze. “Sorry, I—”
There was that rise and fall, longer and slower than before; the steady pulse, warmth against her palms. “With me,” she was instructed. “In two, out two. I’m here, Rishe.”
Rishe tried to copy the voice, mimic the rise and fall beneath her hands with her own breath, but it didn’t take away the ache. She followed all the same. It made things easier, to breathe, to be grounded. There was no numbness blotting out the world, but now she could focus.
“Good. Can you open your eyes?”
Hands ran up her arms and came to cradle her face, brushing just beneath her lower eyelids in a familiar pattern. Instinctively leaning into the warmth, Rishe managed to look up and was met with irises a blue as dark as the sea.
“Come back to me,” he repeated softly, it sounded as if he were begging.
The silence that followed moved at a glacial pace as Rishe finally recalled where she was, and how she had found her way into her seventh life. Memories of the last four years occurred to her at last.
“Arnold,” Rishe whispered, blinking slowly up at him. He was the emperor now, she had stopped the war, and incidentally had committed regicide. “Are you hurt?”
Arnold scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I believe that’s my line. What was that?”
His fingers moved to trace the pinked skin where her nails had scratched into the sides of her neck. Rishe twitched, unable to stop herself from staring after the movements of his hands. He didn’t do anything other than brush over the marks, and so she managed to relax.
“I don’t…it doesn’t happen often. I’m okay now.”
“It’s happened before, then?” Arnold frowned.
“Yes.”
“When and why?”
Rishe pressed her lips into a flat line, unsure of how to respond. It wasn’t as if she could tell him the truth, that he’d killed her many times before and she still felt that pain in this life too. How could she even begin to talk about it?
“It doesn’t matter,” Rishe mumbled, instead of attempting to come up with a lie when her mind still felt as if it had been crushed down into a fine paste.
“I disagree.” Arnold’s eyes bore into her own, demanding answers she simply could not give, scanning her body for every self-inflicted injury from her breakdown. “You shouldn’t be experiencing this. If you can hypothesize a root cause, it should be tested.”
“There’s no real explanation that would make sense. I’ve tested it myself. It hurts, then it stops on its own after a random amount of time. There’s nothing to show—not even an injury, or any illness—there’s no excuse for it.”
Arnold’s brows furrowed. “You’re certain?”
“Yes.” She breathed. He didn’t seem like he would ask more questions. Relieved, Rishe curled into his open arms.
“Then it might be an issue with your mind,” Arnold said gently, hands stroking through her hair. “Knights who come back from war experience such things often.”
“I’ve been in no wars.” Rishe mumbled against his chest: both a truth and a lie. This body had seen no wars, but Rishe herself had died in plenty. Arnold only hummed, and she could tell he was dubious about her claim. How she’d acted during the past four years worked against her.
“The point still stands. You’ve experienced something your mind finds traumatic, and it simply has yet to heal.”
“What about you, Your Majesty?”
“What about me?” Arnold asked, brows scrunching in confusion.
“Has your mind healed from when you were at war?”
Arnold remained silent, the only sign he’d heard her being the slight tightening of his hold around her.
“Why must you always forget your own issues then ask me of mine? Then again, that might be one of the causes of this.”
It was Rishe’s turn to stay silent, biting her tongue as she burrowed further against Arnold’s chest.
The couple sat there in silence for what felt like an eternity, savoring the warmth of the other’s embrace. Rishe felt her body slowly relax as Arnold began to pat her back to the gentle pace of a heartbeat, easing her every breath.
“Arnold…”
“Hm?”
“I don’t want to die again,” She whispered hollowly.
“I won’t let that happen. No one can lay a finger on you if you do not wish it,” he murmured, pressing a comforting kiss to the crown of her head. “You’re safe here. Your mind just needs time to realize that too.”
“But I do feel safe!” Rishe protested, tilting her head to look up at her husband, her hold tightening around his shirt defiantly.
“I believe you,” he soothed, trailing his fingers down her cheek. The delicate touch evoked a shiver, and Rishe listed further into his arms. “There are simply some things that take more time than others. This is one of them.”
“What if this happens again?” Rishe asked, voice quivering with uncertainty.
“Then I’ll be with you the whole time. I’ll always bring you back to me.”
“You promise?” It felt silly to ask, childish even. But it was too late to take it back. Arnold didn’t seem to mind, at least, placing a soft kiss against her lips.
“I vow it.”
Rishe gave her husband a tender, broken smile, relishing in the knowledge that he meant every word. She trusted him more than she trusted herself. She knew that knowledge should unnerve her, but, after so many years of being at his side, it felt like a gentle balm on her frayed nerves.
“Thank you.” Rishe sighed, allowing herself to all but collapse against her husband, knowing that he would stay with her until she was ready to head back into the world once more. She took solace in the knowledge that, even though part of her was fractured and bleeding, he still loved her.
That no matter what, he would stand with and protect her until the bitter end, just as she would for him.