Ruby
"I lost. Aveline lay on the bed...helpless, clueless."
″Ruby," the doctor said, eyes flicking between the monitor and the chart. "Her vitals are good. No fractures, no torn ligaments… just nerve trauma. We managed to control the swelling."
He paused, and I already knew the kind of silence that came next.
"But I'm sorry. She won't be able to dance. Not like before."
For a moment, I didn't blink. Didn't breathe. Just stared at him like he'd told my the sun had died.
My fingers twitched — the kind of motionless fury only I could pull off.
"You mean temporary, right?"
My voice was low, almost kind — which, for me, was the most dangerous tone of all.
"Rehabilitation. Medicine. Therapy. You'll fix it."
The doctor sighed, and I hated that sound.
"We'll do our best. But the nerve… it's already compromised. If she keeps dancing, she could lose mobility entirely. It's not worth the risk."
My throat felt like iron.
The memory hit me — Aveline on the studio floor, twirling in soft light, her hair like a ribbon of fire. Her laugh. Her barefoot steps echoing through marble halls.
Gone.
All of it.
I turned away, staring through the glass window where Aveline lay asleep on the bed, the blanket tucked up to her chin. A nurse was adjusting her IV drip. Her face looked peaceful, almost childlike — the kind of peace that always came before the storm of truth.
My fists clenched in her coat pockets.
"Don't tell her," I said finally, voice like a blade dragged over ice.
"Not yet. Not until I do."
The doctor hesitated, but nodded.
I stepped closer to the glass, my breath fogging it slightly. Myreflection stared back at me — hair falling loose, eyes rimmed red beneath the lenses.
You promised to protect her, Ruby.
Now even her dreams bleed.
I touched the glass where Aveline's face was.
"I'll find a way," I murmured.
"Even if I have to break the world in half for it."
---
The hallway reeked of antiseptic and silence — the kind that scraped against the bones. The kind that left too much space for guilt to breathe.
I stood there, my reflection stretched thin across the glass window.
The door behind me creaked open.
Mireline's voice — soft, trembling — broke the silence.
"The doctor told you… right?"
I nodded once. The words felt like rust in my mouth when I finally forced them out.
"Chronic nerve compression."
It was too clean of a phrase for something that ugly. Two neat words that killed an entire world.
Mireline stepped closer, the soft click of her heels echoing against the polished floor. She looked at me, eyes wet but defiant — refusing to let the tears win.
"Let's not tell her yet, Ruby."
I stared at her — at the woman who looked too much like Aveline when she cried. For a heartbeat, I didn't trust my voice. Then I spoke, rough and quiet — the kind of voice that comes after nights of screaming without sound.
"I promised to protect your sister," I whispered, my throat dry. "But now her life, her dream— it's dying too. Because of me."
The air between us grew heavy, pulsing with all the things neither of us wanted to say. Mireline took a long, shaking breath, one hand clutching her coat.
"You weren't awake," she said softly, her voice cracking near the end. "When the doctor came. He told us first. We were there— with you. Watching you bleed, Ruby. And when it was over, we ran to her."
Her lip quivered. "She was just lying there… peaceful, innocent, calm. It hurt. It hurt so much to see my sister like that— helpless, hopeless."
Her words twisted inside me like barbed wire.
I looked down at the hospital tiles — too white, too perfect. The kind of clean that felt cruel.
"These floors," I muttered under my breath, eyes fixed on them, "they're so damn spotless… it's annoying."
My laugh came out hollow.
Because in a world that scrubbed away every stain, mine were the ones that refused to fade.
And now, Aveline — my dancer, my light — she was the one paying for it.
I pressed my palms against the wall, breathing through the weight in my chest. Mireline was silent beside me, her hand trembling as it brushed her tears away.
"Ruby," she said quietly, "she loves you more than that dream."
I closed my eyes, jaw tightening until I felt my pulse in my teeth.
"That's what makes it worse," I said. "Because she'll smile and say it's fine — even while dying inside."
The clock above us ticked too loudly. Somewhere down the hall, a nurse laughed softly, like the world didn't just end.
I turned toward the room again, to the glass window where my wife lay under pale sheets.
Her chest rose and fell slowly. Her hands — those delicate hands that once commanded symphonies from silence — were still. Too still.
And in that moment, I swore the sun inside me dimmed a little.
"If she can't dance again," I whispered, voice breaking just enough for Mireline to hear, "then I'll burn the world for her."
---
We walked back into the room.
The faint hum of the monitor filled the air — steady, fragile, alive.
Aveline turned her head the moment she saw me, her lips curving into the gentlest smile. She extended her hand toward me — a silent command, soft but impossible to resist.
I moved without thinking and took her hand, feeling how fragile it was in mine. Too delicate. Too human.
Everyone else quietly left the room — doctors, nurses, the footsteps fading one by one — until it was just me, Mireline, and the girl I'd promised the world to.
Aveline's voice broke the silence like a breeze brushing against glass.
"Your head… was it hurting, Ruby?"
Her tone was faint, the kind that trembles from exhaustion yet still finds strength to care.
I leaned closer, forcing my voice to stay even.
"No, rabbit. I'm… I'm fine."
Lie.
The kind of lie spoken by someone who's bleeding inside but too proud to show it.
Her blue eyes locked with mine — and for a moment, I swore she could see everything I was trying to hide.
Every drop of guilt, every scream swallowed in silence.
Those eyes had always been dangerous that way — they saw me even when I didn't want to be seen.
"Don't overthink, rabbit," I murmured, voice low, almost husky. "Just rest."
She didn't answer. Just blinked softly, still holding my hand as if it anchored her.
Mireline sat on the sofa nearby, her expression calm, though I could see the storm brewing behind her eyes.
Aveline turned her head toward her sister.
"Sis," she whispered, barely above a breath, "come here. I want you both near me."
Mireline moved instantly, sitting beside the bed and brushing a few loose strands from Aveline's forehead before kissing it. The sight was so gentle it hurt to look at.
For a long while, none of us spoke.
The silence filled the room — heavy, suffocating, swallowing even the sound of my heartbeat.
Then Aveline asked the one thing she shouldn't have.
The one thing I wasn't ready for.
"When will my ankle recover?" she asked softly.
"I… I want to dance again."
Her voice was innocent, pure — untouched by the truth that was about to crush her world.
Mireline froze.
Her hand, mid-stroke through Aveline's hair, stopped.
Her eyes found mine — and what passed between us in that glance was pure horror.
Because neither of us could lie convincingly enough to protect her forever.
And neither of us were ready to shatter that fragile light still burning in her eyes.
---
I whispered, "You will, very soon. For now… just rest and recover, rabbit."
Aveline just sighed, a small nod following as her fingers weakly tightened around mine. I brushed her hair from her face, trying not to let the sting behind my eyes spill. Somewhere between her silence and my own, I forgot what it meant to care for myself. My pain didn't matter—not when she was breathing beside me.
A week passed. The doctors said she was strong enough to go home. I handled everything—the discharge papers, the transport, her medication. When she was finally settled back into the villa, I told Max to manage the business fronts for a while. Adam and Luna took over the rest.
Mireline hugged her before leaving, her voice trembling when she said, "Take care of her, Ruby."
I nodded once. "I will."
And I meant it—every word.
---