He sees himself. Clearly enough that it could almost be through his own two eyes – like looking in a mirror. Seven-hundred years have passed since he last saw his own face. Since he last watched the black curls of youth frame his face. He never did have the chance to see them turn grey.

  Something seems…off about the reflection though. Some minor detail gone awry. It’s unclear at first, but – ah, the eye color is wrong. How could he forget that? Brown. Not Blue. They change and then –

  His world shifts. He stands now, in the body he had briefly gazed upon. Sensation creeps in through his limbs, a gentle pulse rolls across warming flesh. His eyes open.

  The light burns. He looks away, focusing on the dim lights of the cavern. Their brilliance is nothing compared to hers. How could it hope to match? Eve. Her name thrums its way through his veins, the way only hers could. The body and soul to which he was…and perhaps still is bound.

  “Please,” he can hear her whispering, “please, I don’t want to…I’m not ready to…Please. Arric.”

  She’s calling for him. She needs him. Desperately.

  “I am here.” He calls, the words fumbling across his numb lips. The echo of his own voice almost draws tears from his eyes. Eve’s light is dimming now, bearable to behold. He catches a glimpse of long silver hair as he begins to approach. “Eve, I am here.” He says again, relishing the way it feels. Then she turns and he sees it.

  A blade driven straight through her heart. His pulse quickens as his stomach drops.

  “Castigan, she’s wounded, can’t you –” an involuntary breath overfills his lungs. “Castigan? What are you doing here?”

  Eve’s voice quivers as she speaks, “is that…are you…”

  “It is I - Arric,” he replies.

  Arric gazes at Eve. Luminescent even in her confusion. Her lips break to speak yet again –

  “I’m sorry, but…what the fuck?”

  ***************************************

  “FUCK STOP TOUCHING IT!” Eve screams, making Arric rip his hands away from the blade. The searing pain from his touch rebounds across her chest as he does.

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  Eve reaches for Arric, now sitting on folded knees. She wants the throat, but settles for his jacket - fur lined leather, a mirror of her own. She wants to pull him close so he can hear her, but the muscles in her chest spasm in protest.

  “Don’t ever touch me or my…wounds, without permission.” The words leave her as a half-growl half-shout that reverberates throughout the cavern.

  “Yes, I…understood.” he replies. His contriteness almost makes her regret the words. Almost. He pushes himself back across the slick crystal floor. The gall of him using her blood for mobility makes her want to smack him. It’s also objectively hilarious. A deep breath yields a fresh wave of pain in her ribs. She can sense the incoming apology before it’s given a voice.

  “I can feel how much work you’re doing in there. Don’t even think about apologizing. You’ve got your work cut out for you.”

  Her voice is quiet, threatening to get lost within the thrum of Eve’s own thoughts. Perhaps that’s even more dangerous than the loud ones.

  She shifts her body towards Arric, as best she can given her current predicament. Gods she’s a fucking mess. “What the fuck are you doing outside of my body and why don’t you look like a 700 year old man?”

  “Well…this is my body from just before I died. I do not think the body of a 700 year old man would be practical…or functional.”

  He has a point. “But what about the first part?” She asks, pointing at him, “why are you over there and not in here?” She finishes the question by touching a finger to her head.

  “I…don’t know.” he replies.

  “Well if you survive…where is everyone else? I could really use —”

  Eve’s not sure she really want an answer to those questions. “What do you mean they leaked out?” Eve asks.

  Her pulse shudders. It’s difficult to pinpoint the cause. Rose’s thoughts? Maybe. But the fucking blade rammed through her heart might have something to do with it. She takes a deep breath, or at least, she tries to. She knows she needs to calm down - needs to start thinking. Smart. Problem solving – the way Nisha does.

  “We need to get you medical att –”

  “No shit, Arric,” she interjects, “Not helpful.”

  “Can you stand?” he asks.

  “Maybe.” She kicks her legs, or tries to, at least. She can’t say that they’re feeling terribly responsive at the moment, but they get a pass, just this once. “I don’t think so,” She responds, “I’ve lost quite a bit of that red watery stuff that, you know, keeps me alive.” She proudly displays the knife in her chest, like she’s Vanna fucking White.

  The word grips her brain like it might be the last thing that gets the opportunity, although something in the Incorporeum will surely get a chance if she doesn't survive this. Regret pangs deep within her stomach. Or maybe it’s just the wound again. Who the fuck knows anymore.

  “We need to get to Veilward. The academy hospital…the nurses…they’ll know what to do. I’m sure of it.”

  “I’m sure you recall that our – I mean – your admission to Veilward was rescinded after you were caught selling illicit soul shards at orientation,” Arric says, gesturing to the crystalline cave around them. “This place seems to be the root of all of your problems.”

  “I did find most of you assholes here so you’re right about that,” she shoots back. A red flush threatens her pallid face, if only she’d enough blood remaining to fulfill the call. Needling from Arric is rare, but he had been particularly upset when she’d gotten kicked out of Veilward. He made it seem like the only time she’d ever disappointed him. Four years sharing a head and then she fucks it up like that because… well because of course she did.

  She tries to kick her feet again and is rewarded with a slight tingle. she can almost hear the tearing of the matted blood before new red starts to pour.

  “Shit.”