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Doors shut. The air shifts. It almost glows as it is pushed past and swims around the new body in the room.
Things feel new again. The environment is no longer stale.
The breath it—he, you notice—heaves is familiar. The voice of your not-often-present elder brother. The second eldest. (And the one to outlive you all.) Xoka.
“Dyrym,” he says, and your mouth tastes a little sour. He is disappointed with you. You know this to be true.
“I cannot see your eyes, thon,” you say, because you can’t. You are blind. You have been since you begged your mother and father to let you keep this, even if they wished to heal you.
“Obviously,” he scoffs, and the air moves harshly across you, like he’d slapped you with his words.
Then he actually did hit you. The back of your head, as your mother often did with him. You couldn’t help but grin a little.
(You aren’t quite sure if what you see is really the air, or the magic breathed with every word. You’ve come to realize it’s nearly everywhere. Imbued in everything, even if people did not realize it.)
“I could feel that,” you retort, pushing your hair back even if you couldn’t see if he had messed anything up.
“What is this?” He demanded more than asked. The words made the air feel heavy. Like hands were trying to push you back down onto the bed. Perhaps into the earth.
“I don’t know,” you answer, feeling almost mischievous. Your grin widens. You deserved the hit you got again.
“This!” He said, and you could feel the air move as he gestured to your face. Your eyes. The swollen skin that shut them permanently.
“I wanted this,” you reply calmly. It was the truth. It was your truth.
“And why would you ever want that?” He continued, still insistent. You could feel the concern behind it, masked behind so many layers of frustration and angry and curiosity and misunderstanding.
You give him the most simple explanation. “Because I don’t want to see.” Again, it is true. You cannot bear seeing ever again.
He quite easily caught on. He was a little different from the rest of your family. They cared more about the fact that you did this to yourself or that you were hurt. You have a feeling it was because you were the tham’su of the family.
…Right now it seems like Xoka was the only one listening.
“What didn’t you want to see?”
“I just didn’t.”
“Okay. But stop avoiding my question. What did you see?”
It’s funny. You can no longer see the physical world anymore, but you cover your eyes anyway. Once sat at your bed, only resting, and now you were hunched over, palms pressed against your covered eyes.
“I saw things a child should never have!”