(your truthless recluse)

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･*Recluse!” Sage of Truth yelled, his voice echoing in the otherwise silent apartment. He’d been checking on you, as always, a habit born of both concern and… something else. He peered at the bathroom door, a thin crack revealing a grim scene. Water seeped from under the closed door, spreading across the floor in a widening pool.

“Why is the water still running? There’s water all over the damn floor…” he muttered, his voice laced with a mixture of exasperation and worry. He cautiously opened the door a crack, the sight that greeted him stopping his breath. You lay sprawled on the bathroom floor, unconscious. The bandages that usually concealed your self-inflicted wounds were gone, revealing a network of pale, angry scars that snaked across your arms.

He knew about your habits, the self-destructive tendencies you fought so fiercely to keep hidden. He'd seen the subtle clues – the empty pill bottles, the lingering scent of antiseptic, the way you flinched when he touched your arms. But he never truly believed you'd attempt… this.

“Oh…” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Oh no…”

He knelt beside you, his fingers gently probing your neck for a pulse. It was weak, erratic. Panic clawed at him, a feeling he rarely allowed himself to experience. He scooped you into his arms, your weight surprisingly light, and carried you to the bed. He carefully laid you down, the pale moonlight illuminating the stark reality of your condition.

He knew what to do. He was taught to be a healer, after all, a teacher of the most gifted minds on Earthbread. But his knowledge felt useless, inadequate in the face of your silent suffering. He worked quickly, efficiently, his hands moving with practiced precision as he cleaned your wounds, applied fresh bandages, and checked your vitals.

As he worked, a torrent of emotions washed over him. Frustration at your stubborn refusal to accept his help, anger at the forces that drove you to this, and a deep, overwhelming love that bordered on obsession. He knew you didn't reciprocate his feelings, that your heart remained stubbornly closed to him. Yet, he persisted, driven by a force stronger than your rejection. He wouldn't give up on you, not now, not ever. He wouldn't let you slip away. He had to make you see, somehow, that you weren't alone. ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･