Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Asher sighed, still fiddling with the eccentric bird clock in his hands, before finally glancing at the pair of narrowed hazel eyes across from him.
"Mrs. Mayhew... I'm fine. More than fine, actually. Can we wrap this up a little early today?"
The young woman across from him leaned back in her chair, exhaustion etched across her face. "Ash. Please. Calling by my last na and pretending to be polite isn't going to make this easier for you."
A sly grin tugged at his lips. "So… what, should I call you Aunty instead?"
Alice coughed, giving him a sharp look. "You've known for seven years. Calling your therapist by her first na is perfectly acceptable. Like you always have."
Asher opened his mouth for a coback, but Alice silenced him with a raised finger.
"Let's not get distracted from the main issue at hand here."
She slid a stack of photos across the table and tapped them. "Explain these."
Asher glanced down, his forced smile twitching. "Well… yeah… uhh…"
"You beat up seven teenagers, Asher. Seven. To the point of unconsciousness." She leaned back again, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Just when I thought you were improving."
Asher's grin fell into a frown. "What do you an? I am improving. Better than the fucking stoic rock I was before."
"Language." Alice narrowed her eyes as Asher straightened his posture and gulped. "M-My bad.."
She shook her head, "What did they do anyway?"
Asher glanced to the side, his eyes growing a bit wistful in the reflection of the window.
"They called an orphan 2 years back." He looked back at her, "I got pretty pissed."
Alice looked at Asher with both brows raised, putting her palm on top of her mouth. "N-no way."
She turned to Asher, with wide eyes, "The reason you insisted on learning martial arts two years ago... It's for this isn't it?"
Asher bit his tongue not eting her eye, letting out hollow chuckles. Alice flinched, she understood everything she need to know.
She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, as if bracing herself.
"We're increasing your sessions," she said at last, her tone firm. "Three tis a week. Until we can work through these… maladaptive coping chanisms."
Asher groaned, throwing his head back. "Oh, co on…"
Alice sighed, "Well, what can we do. Did you really have to beat those guys that bad?"
Suddenly, the room went silent as Alice hissed silently. 'Wrong words.'
"Yes."
Asher's reply was quiet, almost too quiet. His hollow blue eyes locked onto hers, unblinking. "I had to."
He dragged his chair closer, the scrape of wood against tile loud in the silence. He jabbed a finger at the photos on the table. "These bastards reminded of that, Alice."
His hand clenched, crumpling one of the pictures. Suddenly, he pressed both hands against his head, shutting his eyes tight. His voice cracked. "T-their voices… I can still hear them. Begging to live."
His slender fra began to tremble.
"Asher—" Alice circled her desk quickly, crouching beside him. She placed a hand on his back, rubbing gently. "Hey, hey… breathe. How about we call it a little early today, huh? Didn't you want that?"
Asher's breaths ca ragged, unsteady, but he let her help him up.
Then she stumbled against the corner of her desk with a startled yelp, scattering a pile of papers onto the floor.
"Give a second," she muttered, forcing a cheery tone as she bent to gather them.
Asher's gaze drifted downward, unfocused at first—until one paper caught his eye. His chest tightened as the words ca into view.
[DSM-5 Profile – Case Notes]
Patient: Asher
Status: Cleared of Blunted Affect
Emotional Dysregulation: Difficulty controlling intensity of emotional responses; swings between extres of too much and too little.
Possible Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID): Unconfird.
Self-Stimulatory Behavior (Stimming): Displays repetitive fidgeting, suspected as a thod of emotional self-regulation.
Depression: Persistent; exacerbated by unusually strong episodic mory recall.
The paper shook faintly in Alice's hand as she realized where his eyes had landed.
"Asher," she said quickly, forcing steadiness into her voice. "It's—"
But his gaze was already burning holes into the page.
_______________________________
The lanterns creaked on their chains as a sharp draft swept through the corridor, sending the curtains snapping against the stone walls like restless ghosts.
Hunters and maidens bowed their head as a striking figure walked across the hall. Changing Star's figure seed strangely hurried. Well... Of course they were.
'He' had awakened after all.
After 10 days that is.
"Sid," Nephis murmured, stopping before a heavy oak door. Her voice was calm, but the tension in her posture betrayed her.
Sid, standing guard, exhaled shakily in relief at the sight of her mistress. "My lady… the Saint isn't allowing anyone inside." She shifted uneasily, glancing toward the others gathered nearby. Aiko, Kido, and Kai stood a little further back, their faces pinched with disappointnt.
Nephis's frown deepened, just as a familiar voice rang out from behind.
"Princess!"
Effie ca skidding down the hallway, her fiery hair bouncing wildly. "I heard the poster boy's awake!"
Before Nephis could caution her, Effie pushed past and shoved the door open. "Mr. Eye Candy! Guess who's—"
A sudden force slamd into her chest—not strong enough to injure, but forceful enough to send her stumbling back several steps before the door shut tight in her face.
Effie blinked rapidly, then looked around. Nephis arched a brow at Sid. Sid looked at Kai. Kai looked at Kido. Kido looked at Aiko. Aiko… shrugged.
Effie clapped her hands together. "Right. So he can shove people now." A grin split her face. "Then I'll just shove back!"
That's exactly what she did.
With an almost childlike glee, she raised her leg and kicked. The oak hinges shrieked in protest before giving way, the door collapsing inward with a heavy thud.
Effie marched in, cracking her neck. "Hey, if you're gonna play stubborn like that, maybe I should start calling you princess too—"
Her words died.
The others followed her in, only to freeze. The room was strangely still, the curtains whipping violently against the window fra as the cold wind poured through the open glass.
He sat on the edge of the bed, one knee bent, the other stretched out, his posture slouched but strangely composed. His gaze was fixed out the window, distant, as if he were watching sothing far beyond the castle walls.
His hair—once a pristine white—was now a wild, tousled mix of black and ivory, strands whipping across his pale face. The wounds that had torn him apart only days ago had vanished, knitted shut by Nephis' healing.
At last, he turned.
Two mismatched eyes regarded them quietly: one the glacial blue of winter, the other burning a deep, blood-red. Both carried the sa bleak emptiness.
His lips parted, his voice little more than a murmur carried on the cold wind.
"I'm a killer."
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