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Isella

The girl didn’t like Isella. That was obvious enough. She wondered vaguely why, but it was too much work to think, and besides, it hurt.

“My name is May, Delya.”

The words had hardly any meaning, but one word caught her waning attention. My name isn’t Delya. Who is she mistaking me for?

She tried to say, “no, that’s not my name. I’m Isella.” the words were unbelievably difficult to say, so finally she gave up.

She could feel herself slipping back into unconsciousness, and a sudden terror seized her. I can’t go back there. I can’t, I can’t. The thought repeated itself until it didn’t mean anything.

“No, don’t do that. Who is Cirian? I’ll see if I can find him, Delya.”

A hand–the hand of the girl’s, most likely,” touched hers. With a sudden motion, Isella clutched at it, as if hoping it would keep her from the ocean of pain that waited on the rim of consciousness.

The girl tried to pull her hand away, but Isella clung tight.

Don’t do what? She wondered foggily.

Suddenly an ear-splitting whistle burst into her ears. Isella shrank from it as the pounding in her head increased.

“I need your water!” called the voice of the girl from an inestimable distance.

“One moment, Delya, just one more moment.” Her voice was almost soft.

This time Isella managed to get the words out.

“Not–my–name. My–name–is–Isella–Christine–Aumardel.” it seemed of paramount importance to tell the girl her full name, as if the weight of the world hung on her remembering those three words. But they took more work to say than anything she’d said before, and after that she lapsed into silence.

In a moment, excited footsteps approached, and words were being spoken. Isella didn’t listen; it was far too hard.

Then a flask of water was being held to her lips and she was drinking. The cool water soothed her aching throat, but made her stomach roil again.

She clutched the girl’s hand tighter and searched for another drink without bothering to open her eyes.

At last she fell asleep.

 

She woke up feeling fragile, but her headache had eased. She was moist all over, and a little cold. Her hair was still in her face.

She lifted shaky hands and gathered it together in a pony tail, wrinkling her nose at the wet, slimy texture. In a few minutes she had it braided,  a loop of hair tying the braid off. Then she looked around.

There was a person sitting next to her, but for a moment she couldn’t recognize who it was.

 

~~~

@rose-colored-fancy

I know that Mejt is just being bitter. 🙂 this ought to be interesting! What do you think of them being a little hostile for a while, then making friends? Oh, and Isella is either 20 or 22, with gray-sea-green eyes. 🙂

 

@whoever wants to be the person standing by Isella. She’ll recover soon and then act more like a person 🙂