Pristine packed hurriedly. The clamor of the early-morning nurses drifted up from downstairs, and she knew it was the one thing that could save her from being seen as she departed. The commotion each morning was more than enough to drive anyone without dedication insane, but Pristine had hand-picked her nurses as time allowed, therefore setting up a team that worked, most days, like a well-oiled machine. Today, however, the nurses were working without her guidance.
She threw a few more pairs of socks into her bag, pulled the strap over her shoulder, and grabbed her staff as she closed the door to her room behind herself. Lavender robes swaying about her form, she stepped carefully between and around frantic nurses and maids in her attempt to reach the stairs. With effort, she descended them quietly. At the bottom, she steeled her nerves and stepped into chaos.
A swirling hurricane of brilliant white engulfed her in its mass as nurses bustled about with cures, blankets, herbs, and clipboards in their arms. She pushed carefully but firmly through them, her eyes on the door to her domicile, ears closed to the plaintive cries of patients and nurses alike. Several of the nurses attempted to take her robes in their hands to get her attention, but she shook them off as though they were pesky burrs. Unerringly, she plowed a strait line to the door, but a look of dismay flooded her face as soon as she got to it.
A little girl stood in the doorway, staring up at her with wide and innocent blue eyes. Her hair was disheveled and her dress, most likely an expensive one used for special occasions, was muddy and splattered with drying blood. Her face was red and the rims of her large, blue, innocent eyes puffy, as though she had been crying for a long time. Pristine swallowed a breath as her eyes searched the girl’s visage for some forgiving factor that might allow her passage through the door.
“Excuse me, miss, but I have to--…” Pristine began.
“Where’s my mother?” The little girl cut her off with a plaintive edge to her voice as tears welled up in her eyes. Pristine sighed and pressed two fingers to her right temple, massaging it savagely. Seconds crawled by before she reached one arm out and grabbed a nearby nurse.
“Take this girl to her mother.” She said sternly, emphasizing with an impatient gesture to the little one. The nurse gave the child a weary smile, then leaned closer to Pristine’s ear and put her hand near her mouth.
“Her mother died not half an hour ago. She was obviously attacked… her chest was wide open when someone brought her in. It’s amazing she lived long enough to get here in the first place.” The nurse whispered with a sad shake of her head. No feelings registered in Pristine’s facial expressions, and she shoved the nurse back into the commotion around her with a mumbled word of thanks.
“Where’s my mother?” The girl asked again, sounding even more impatient than Pristine had just a moment before. Pristine’s ears flicked back against her head at the little girl’s tone of voice, and she growled. Your mother is dead, little girl. She’s lying on a cot somewhere in this godsforsaken hospital covered in blood with glassy eyes and her entrails spewing out of her, and that’s it. There’s no more, she thought. She desperately wanted to say it to the child, so the girl wouldn’t have to live in lies, or in the darkness. But she didn’t.
“Come with me, little girl.” Pristine took the frail child by her hand, and pulled her back through the tumult toward the stairs she’d just descended. She walked with a hurried and purposeful step, almost dragging the child along behind her, up the stairs, and into her room. The child, shocked and in awe, did as she was then told and sat down at the foot of Pristine’s bed. With a swish of her robes, Pristine knelt in front of the child and looked into her eyes.
“Your mother, child, is gone. We managed to heal her minor wounds, but she needed more help than we could give her. So… we…” here, Pristine would have to make something up. “We… took her to a larger, better-equipped infirmary. She may be there a while, or maybe even for her entire life, we’re just not sure. But she said she loved you and wanted you to stay with your relatives for as long as she was gone. She said she would be thinking about you, always sending love to the stars for you.” Pristine sighed. It was taking a toll on her heart, the lying and deception. She had been lied to about her parents, once, too.
“So how about I take you back downstairs and get a nurse to take you back home, okay?” Pristine stood slowly, and offered the child her hand. The child took it, and as they once again began to descend the stairs, the child looked up at Pristine.
“My mother’s dead isn’t she.” The little girl stated matter-of-factly.
“Yes.” Pristine’s steps did not falter. They reached the foot of the stairs once more, and Pristine ushered the child off into the ground, pointing at a distant nurse and signaling to the nurse what she wanted. Finally, Pristine was free to go.
As she walked out the door, she looked back over her shoulder. The nurse was giving the little girl a hug. Was I really naďve enough to think my parents were still alive, too? Enough that I didn’t bother to attempt to get a straight answer out of anyone? She thought to herself. She removed her stare from the scene of loving sadness and stepped out the door. As it closed, she thought … if I was… not anymore.
