Lia is filled with questions, but she knows she will not get an answer. Not anytime soon, at least.
Sandara Harrison rarely ever expresses her feelings, most especially when it comes to filial piety. However, when she does, it’s overly effusive, like a deluge that overwhelms and nearly suffocates you, because your poor brain cannot make a connection between mushiness overload and the severe, heavy-handed image she normally portrays. They’re just too different to juxtapose, like two colors at opposite ends of the spectrum.
After satisfying her curiosity, allaying her otherwise frayed nerves, and ensuring that her convalescent niece will not be returning to the depths of a dreamless slumber anytime soon, Sandara makes to deposit herself on her signature chair, only to realize halfway into the action that the wooden seat has been reduced to a jumble of woodpiles. This puts her in an awkward position, and she is caught in between the motions of standing and sitting.
Lia snickers at her aunt’s ungainly attempt to right herself. If her limbs weren’t still asleep, she’d have reached for her phone to capture this priceless memory. After all, it isn’t every day that one gets to see Sandara Harrison strike such an inelegant and rather a clumsy pose. Or better still, I could summon my camera and take a couple of shots. Fat chance of that happening though. Not when I’m as magically adept as the next teen down the street. If only wishes were horses...
Her chuckles, unfortunately, graduate to full-blown hacking coughs, and Sandara is again by her side, patting her chest gently to prevent her from choking on her saliva. Now, it is Lia’s turn to feel awkward, as she wonders how a mere snicker can balloon into something else. She believes, for a moment, that Karma has caught up with her, but then she remembers that for witches and other members of the supernatural world, such things are non-existent.
“Take it easy, now. You can laugh at me all you want when you’re much stronger.”
“I-I’m f-fine now.”
Lia’s hoarse voice prompts Sandara to conjure a glass of water, which she places at the tip of her niece’s lips, causing her reflexes to kick in small tentative sips reduce the contents of the cup to nil.
“Are you alright now, or do you still want some more water?”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
While magically restoring the woodpiles to their original positions, Sandara narrows her eyes playfully, like a teacher giving a silent warning to an erstwhile student. Lia knows that look- the my-eyes-are-on-you look. She inwardly scoffs at this. It’s not like I can move an inch, aunt. Don’t give me that look.
“What happened to me?”
Sandara is surprised. She quickly recites the side effects of a failed Awakening in her head, but nowhere does she recall selective amnesia as part of the consequences of such occurrence. Hmm. This is strange. I should talk to her mother about it, just in case. But this is strange. Did she perhaps, hit her head prior to my arrival? But if she did, I’d have noticed- she isn’t good at hiding her injuries from me. Maybe she’s not fully awake, like that human phenomenon I learned at my seventy-first school- or was it the seventy-third? I am not that good at history- where a human awakens, but the brain is still asleep? Do I need to get her some mortal medication?
“Why aren’t you saying anything?”
It then registers in Sandara’s mind that she has been monologuing the entire time. Bummer. I’ve gotten too involved with my thoughts again. Now I’d have to either ask her to repeat herself, which would prove that I wasn’t listening, or say the next thing that comes to my mind and hope that it relates to what she’s talking about. How embarrassing. I need to take lessons on multitasking for situations like this.
“What was your question?”
Lia chooses to not question her aunt’s inadvertent absent-mindedness; it’s strange, true, but then stranger things have happened, like the nagging feeling in her chest that isn’t going away. Besides, who could blame her? She looked nothing like her usual self-ever-gorgeous and well out-together. That alone speaks volumes.
“I asked why you weren’t saying anything.”
“About…” Sandara trails off meaningfully.
“I wanted to know what happened, how I ended up like this, why you look like you’ve been to hell, and you know…”
“Been to hell? Now that’s a new one. Where did you learn that?”
Lia shrugs.
“School.”
“I see. So of all things to copy from immature, horny teenagers, you just had to learn how to joke about hell, hmm?”
“That’s beside the point. And you know it.”
“Really?” Sandara leans forward. Lia tries to match the intensity of her gaze but fails, as usual. She settles for glaring at her dead-as-lead limbs as if blaming them for her current predicament. Deciding to spare her niece, Sandara answers her question.
“I meet you unconscious when I arrived. I didn’t know what was wrong with you, and there was barely any life left in you, so I had to alert your mother.”
“M-my m-mother? Where is she?”
“Gone.” Then, as if realizing that her answer was quite abrupt and harsh, she elaborates. “She left after making sure your condition was stable.”
“She couldn’t wait for me to wake up?”
“The coven needs her, Lia. She has to be there to ensure that no problems arise.”
The light in the younger witch’s eyes at the mention of her mother dims at this response. I should’ve known better than to expect her to stay. Why would she want to talk to a disappointment?
“Of course.”
Lia tries to sound natural, but the strain in her voice gives her away. Sandara pats her head, and she smiles sadly. “It’s alright. I’ll be fine,” she mutters.
“I know you will, witchling. I know you will.”
They lapse into a comfortable silence, both lost in thought.