I was on a hospital trolley, being wheeled somewhere. Everything hurt, as if my bones had been crushed. With my eyes half-open, I stared at the ceiling and its harsh white fluorescent tubes. As the trolley moved, they stretched into one long, endless strip of light.
I blinked, dazed. Alcohol and antiseptic stung my nose, but I could still smell blood.
Two men in white kept pace with the trolley.
We rolled back into the same room—the cursed one where the only colour was the butterflies painted on the wall.
I was afraid. Confused. This time the procedure felt different. This time they'd gone further—I could feel it. Something big had happened.
I glanced around the trolley: I was strapped down. A white sheet covered me.
The familiar woman stood at my side; I wished she would become a stranger one day—wished the memory of her hateful face would burn out of my head. I loathed her tidy, glossy hair, especially when the stink of my own sweat sat heavy on my skin.
She smiled down at me. She blurred; I blinked until that damned smile came into focus. She bent close; a sweet cologne drifted over me and turned my stomach. As her hand smoothed my hair, she fixed her eyes on my frightened, foggy ones and said, 'I know you're scared… but don't worry about anything. The Rose Organisation is always with you—like a mother.'
My breath snagged.
Still stroking my hair, she watched the tear brimming in my eye and crooned, soft as a lullaby, 'You'll manage. You're a very strong girl, Viuna.'
The tear slipped free. I thought about how long they'd been promising me 'tomorrow'—and ruining me in the same breath.
I wanted to go back to our hell-camp. Back to Steven, my kind, secret friend. I wanted out of this cursed place. 'Why… won't you let me go?' I whispered, throat tight.
She gave me a gentle smile;She lifted her hand from my hair, reached for the sanitiser by the bed, pumped a measure into her palm and rubbed it in. The mask of indifference slid neatly back over her face as she took a step away.
'We have to wait for the test results,' she said with a cool little curl of the lip. 'If everything goes well, you can return to the camp.' Still rubbing the gel into her hands, she muttered under her breath, a bite in her tone, 'Sometimes I do wonder… why a little girl like you? Why you at all? Why didn't I have that kind of genetics, so I could serve the Organisation better?'
I blinked, stunned, and my face flooded with tears. I stared at her, choking. My hatred for this woman was endless; it ran in my blood.
She laced her fingers, offered me another smile, tipped her head. 'You've just had surgery. Rest.'
I turned my head and stared at the boy asleep on the bed beside mine. I'd never seen anyone else in this room before. I blinked, confused. My eyelids felt greased with ointment; seeing was hard.
The boy was strapped down like me. His face was gaunt and pale, his hair completely white. A white bandage covered his eyes; bruises and cuts marked his body.
Terrified, I looked back at the woman. 'Are you going to blind me like him?'
She smiled—and I hated that smile. Her heels clicked as she walked for the door. 'No. He's different to you. He gave up his eyes for another purpose… and you, for a greater one.'
The door banged open. A man rushed in, breathless. 'You need to come to the lab. Now.'
⸻
'She's waking up.'
The voices swam. My skull felt heavy; my bones felt pulped. My head was so heavy I couldn't lift it from the pillow, couldn't even turn it. I prised my eyelids apart; pain rippled through me.
Terror jolted me—what if I was back in the lab, in the butterfly room? I forced my eyes open faster.
As they opened, I pushed myself up on a flare of pain. My eyes burned, but the room was dim enough to bear.
Ashur sat directly opposite on a pink sofa, hands braced on his knees, leaning towards me. The warm glow of the lamp beside him cut across his cold, implacable face, and his black eyes shone like stars.
I drew a long, shaky breath and told myself: Those memories… they're only nightmares. They won't happen again. Never… never…