The stranger led Faolan into a side room, past a nook kindling a warm fire. Three beds line the walls, separated by threadbare curtains.

"Welcome back, Lili." An old gentleman, wearing linen bedclothes, beamed as the stranger passed. His lined face stretched into a pleasant smile of surprise as Faolan followed. "Ah, and look, you've saved another one. What was it, boy? Fell into the lake?" He surveyed him with a warm smile, cloudy eyes peering over the bed sheets.

"Arrow to the side. I think." Faolan grunted, gripping his throbbing side as the stranger returned to prop him up.

The man's face punctured, as if the serenity that filled the hillside house's sanctuary drained away. His eyes narrowed to cautious slits, and for a fleeting second, he seemed to weigh his words. His head shook almost imperceptibly, a subtle gesture that spoke volumes to Faolan. The air thickened with nerves. Then, with a warm tone, he extended a welcome: "You're in good hands, son."

At the endearment 'son' Faolan felt his heart shatter. Thoughts of his father flooded the consciousness he gripped to, and a cold sweat left his head limp on his shoulder. He shattered to his knees, a frail lump of inconsolable trauma. Pain roared in his side, the bloody wound weeping through the bandages that clung to him. He kicked out, smashing a vase of white waterlilies onto an earthy rug.

The stranger's firm hands grasped Faolan's frail body, and lifted him with a gentle care. The elderly man, overcome with concern, hastened to assist, his sagging face etched with worry. But as Faolan settled into a more comfortable position, the agonizing pain in his side only intensified, the unmistakable throb of infection threatening to claim his life. The air vibrated with tension as they shifted him to the empty bed by the window, where plush pillows and crisp, white sheets enveloped him in a soothing cocoon. Faolan's body relaxed into the softness, his ragged breaths deepened, bringing a fleeting sense of calm to his struggle.

The stranger's hands moved with a quiet confidence as she began to unwrap the layers of bandages that swaddled Faolan's wound. The air thinned with the pungent smell of pus and decay as she revealed the injury beneath. Eyes narrowed to scrutinise the festering wound, her darting gaze affirmed Faolan's suspicions: he verged death. By her side, a sturdy wooden trolley occupied his nagging mind, its surface laid out with an assortment of sharp instruments and small pots of ointments. Each one bore a neat label, the scrawled writing a struggle to read.

A growing dread spread within Faolan; the realisation that his life may soon be at its end. The thought terrified him, birthing a tremor with every breath. Every panted moan of clawing denial. He couldn't die. Not yet. There was so much to prove to himself and others. He's better than the way he had recently acted.

And so, in the darkest hours of his life, a point at which he believed he would never return from, he clung to the one being he perceived as a pure, benevolent creature—a true angel whisked to this corner of the forest to save him. Change him. For now, he saw the truth of life: when you are gone, it is the small moments and impressions that will precede you. They remember the feelings you impress upon them, not the intricate details of your persona.

"It's Lili, isn't it?" Faolan grunted, sweat gathered across his hairline. He focused on her eyes, as light and green as when he had first glimpsed them.

The woman nodded. With a touch as light as a sparrow's feather, she spread an ointment over his wounds. Faolan writhed and hissed, the demons within screaming with agonising strength at her sacred touch. But Lili did not back away. Instead, she rested her hand upon his chest, an anchor to life.

"Please." The gasped cry that trembled the walls of his throat startled Lili as she picked up a sharp needle. Deep within his blackened heart, Faolan knew he alone had caused the pain that destroyed him. Stupidity. A thirst to be the greatest, disregarding what would be best to suit his ego. He had lost too much blood now, and the hopes of survival were slipping from his mind. Now, he could only hope to tame his savage breathing, and respect the work of the woman still desperate to revive him: a blessed stranger. "If you won't speak, please let me see your face. Distract me from the pain of death."

The woman froze for a moment, and Faolan could feel the raging debate stammering her arms into uncertain movements. Then, she turned her back to him, sighed a breath, and began to unwrap her face mask. She pulled down her hood. A puff of fire red hair blasted out from the black folds. She tossed the material aside and turned to face him.

She was everything he had never seen, and every second he stole gazing at her pure skin, glowing in the firelight that echoed through the room, was a gift. He eased down into the pillows once more, content to let her prod and poke away at his side, his trance-like state a drug more potent than opium. More powerful than the highs of life he had ever felt.

Lili didn't wait for his approval, sweeping her fiery hair into a knot: the fountainhead of her beauty. She threaded the needle with sinew, and Faolan only let out a slight gasp as it pierced him. Desperate now to look upon her face until his passing breath, he put his entire effort into keeping still, allowing her whatever access to his body she required.

Though she worked fast, Faolan found the time to count each one of her bronze freckles, dotted over the bridge of her nose, and high up over her forehead and cheekbones. The candlelight reflected in her eyes, and though the pain began to grow, the view lulled him into a state of shallow sleep.

A sort of bliss.

Of all the noble ladies and princesses dressed before him, aimed to be the chosen one by his side, never had he met anyone even close to resembling Lili. No low-cut necklines or bejewelled fingers. As natural as the woods she saved him from, Faolan appreciated every scar on her pink hands. The small tag attached to her collarbone. The beauty mark perfectly shaped like an oval on her neck. And yet, compliments evaded him as he lay there, words inadequate to describe her beauty.

The moment she had finished dressing the wounds, Lili left, snapping the curtains shut behind her. But in his trance, he imagined her still. He traced the outline of each of her sculpted features, the gentle angles of her body etched into memory forever. Shaky breaths subsided, his pining for her return a force of strength keeping him alive.

Lili did return, a bowl of steaming soup cupped in her rosy hands. A meaty aroma spilt from the bowl, and his nose watered from its enticing waft. Careful not to spill a drop, she brought the bedside table closer and rested it there. Before she left his side, Faolan's hand closed around her arm. His thumb traced a run of light hair along her vein, and a warmth enveloped him. "Could you help me? I fear to bend too much."

He cringed at the weakness in his own words, but at the endearing smile she returned, his pride melted away. Faolan wanted to be cared for, and treated as though he were as delicate as a baby. She lifted the bowl, spooning a portion into his mouth, to which the rich depth of flavour clashed with his tongue, and he drooled over the sheets for more. "Sorry." He wiped his mouth, a guilty smile playing on his lips.

Then his mouth snapped shut, for the delicate laugh that squeaked from her perfect lips filled his heart with such light, that he forgot that darkness resided in this world, and that he was a part of it. Her freckled cheeks bloomed pink, and she hastily readied another spoonful, chin down against her chest.

This gentle bliss, the lack of responsibility within his actions, was a heaven Faolan never could have believed existed. A life without the crown. The anger buried in the depths of his soul blew away, embracing the bathing care Lili provided him, and the other elderly man rested upon her healing bed. Even in the lowest points, where the night shakes woke him in a grip of overwhelming sadness, her lingering light lifted him. Into the earliest hours of the day, she was there for him, tending to him not because she had to due to his status, but out of sheer kindness.

In this period of his life, Faolan had learnt what it meant to be at peace with the present, instead of chasing the next high—for she was the peak.