He studied her, and she would be able to see how tired he was, dark circles around his violet eyes. He sighed slightly before looking back up at the ceiling, his brows furrowed with worry.
Rowan was sitting back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling nervously. Lark passed him two plastic pads as she spoke, talking mainly to Tez. "We do this to many trauma patients and their partners. It's kind of a... a jolt of empathy, if you will."
She nodded, going over to a strange trackpad. “Alright. We’re going in three... two...” A slow, grey fog would creep over Tez’s vision.
“It’s broken." The first words came sharply in Tez’s ear as the room faded to grey, a dull fog spreading across her gaze. The words echoed and crashed together and grew in pitch, stuttering and sharply tearing across her brain until suddenly it all stopped. The fog cleared, and she felt a fabric draped across her eyes. She regained her senses slowly, and the first thing she felt was a sting on her face; a blindfold was digging into a deep cut across the bridge of her nose. Slowly, nicks and slices began to appear all over her body, cutting into her as the full pain of the moment revealed itself to her. The air smelt of rotting wood, and her wrists were raw from pulling against the sharp, metal handcuffs. She was starving, a sharp pain in her stomach, although whether this was from hunger or more cuts, she was unsure. Somewhere, a door creaked open, and she felt his veins turn to ice. Footsteps approached him and he tensed as the sound stopped right in front of him, a presence looming in front of him. There was a pause before a loud thud echoed through the room as something dropped on the ground. “Well, little prince,” one of the voices said smoothly. Rowan could instantly tell it was the woman, and she pulled his blindfold off, smiling sweetly at him. “Good morning. I have a little gift for you.” Rowan stared back at the woman duly, his lips split and his mind gone. His breathing was raspy as it escaped from his small chest, and the woman gave him a small grin before pulling away. Rowan instantly saw what she had dropped, and a sharp, monstrous whimper ripped itself from his throat. His mother, her cheekbones bruised and split and her lips slightly parted in death, was lying on the floor. A lock of her chestnut brown hair had escaped her braids and it rested across her face. Rowan trembled, gasping for breath as he sobbed, struggling once again against his bonds. “That’s my mom,” he cried out helplessly, his voice ragged and horrible. “That’s my mom! You… that’s my mom…” The woman studied him thoughtfully before another grin crossed her lips. “Know that this will be you soon enough, my little prince. That is my gift to you. I’ll leave you to think. I’ll be back…” The woman left the room, leaving Rowan alone in the chamber with the corpse. He whimpered again, struggling against the chains as he tried to scoot closer to her. The chair shivered, teetered, and then fell over, making Rowan cry out as he landed on his side, trapping his mangled arm. He kicked himself forward, dragging himself across the cold, cement floor towards his mother. “Mom…?” he asked, knowing that the horrible feeling in his chest would consume him completely. “Mom, it’s me… Mom…” His voice broke, and he buried his face in her neck, wrenching sobs forcing themselves through his throat. “Mom, please…” The grey fog rolled in again, obscuring Tez’s vision.
Tez was completely silent, her mouth open slightly in worry, panic, and a bit of fear. She couldn't tell, but there were tears rolling down her face.
The fog shifted. Large shapes seemed to pass her, ones that she was sure she recognized but could not name. “It’s broken,” the voice said again, sharp and chiding. The words magnified in her ears before suddenly, everything stopped. The fog flew away, revealing a schoolyard. Rowan was sitting at the edge, perhaps ten or eleven, and he was watching a ladybug go down a strand of grass when several bare feet stood in front of him. Rowan’s brow furrowed, and he glanced up at his peers, young elves who were currently staring at him with a disgusted look. “Why are you always sitting here by yourself?” one demanded to know, a black hair, fair-skinned girl named Amber asked, her head tilted. “Why don’t you talk to anyone?” Rowan gazed up at them, his face a blank slate. Amber frowned and knelt down next to him, reaching out to poke him. He shied away from her touch, his violet eyes wide and accusing. “C’mon, talk,” Amber insisted, moving closer to poke him again. “We know you can talk.” He shook his head adamantly and moved to stand up, but Amber grabbed his arm, tugging him towards the group. “What’s the matter with you? Are you stupid or something? Talk!” Rowan’s heart pounded and he tried to pull away. Another elf reached over and tugged at his white hair. “We’ll tell,” Amber said pointedly. “We’ll tell your mom if you don’t talk to us. That’s being rude.” “He doesn’t have a mom,” another one chimed in, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t you see how he’s always picked up in that grey van? He’s at the orphanage.” Rowan’s gaze darted between the rapidly closing in kids, his breathing getting faster. “Is that why you’re a freak?” Amber asked. “You just don’t know any better? Where’s your mom and dad? Did they not love you enough? Did you not talk to them, so they got bored and left?” The crowd moved closer and closer. They were pulling at his clothes now, their pinches making their way through the rough canvas fabric, trying to make him yelp and he felt a whimper building up in his throat. He shook his head adamantly, and that silky grey fog rolled in.
