"Aury."
"Hey, Mom."
A trickle of blood slid down her face, dripping silently from her chin, painting her still-smiling lips a nightmarish red.
Auren felt his heart plummet as his eyes rose to her forehead, where a massive scarlet bruise split her fair skin.
"M-Mom… n-no," he croaked, stepping closer, the smile still plastered across his face. She'd worry if he didn't smile—and from there, it would only spiral.
He couldn't handle that. Not today.
His eyes scanned the room, subtle and practiced, though he already knew what he'd find: a bloody red mark on the wall—where she had been hitting herself again.
Calmly, he sat down beside her, gently taking her hands in his.
It still surprised him how frail they had become. It felt like only yesterday she had been the one taking his hands, comforting him.
"You can't do this, Mom," he said softly, voice cracking.
She tilted her head, still smiling—innocent, as if she couldn't feel the pain or the blood smeared across her face.
"Aury."
Auren nodded. "You can't keep hurting yourself… please." His voice broke, catching in his throat.
"Aury?"
It was hard to meet her gaze. Harder still to see what wasn't there—what should've been there. But he looked anyway.
She liked it when he looked into her eyes.
"Aury," she repeated, beaming, blissfully unaware.
"Yes," Auren whispered. "I'm here."
This never worked. No matter how many times he spoke to her, tried to guide her, teach her—his mother was too far gone. Broken by this world beyond repair.
In many ways… she was already dead.
And the worst part was, she still smiled.
Like she didn't even know she was gone.
Getting up slowly, he moved to the other side of the room. It was sparsely furnished. Furniture was a luxury they couldn't afford. Still, there was a table—it had come with the room. A small, rickety thing that held every belonging Auren owned.
He took the bloodstained bandages from it. He had washed them as best he could, but after so many uses, the blood had become part of the cloth.
His mother had taught him how to wrap a bandage. Said she'd learned it from his father.
His father.
Auren had to swallow the flare of rage that name brought.
His mother had loved that man—still did, even after he'd abandoned her before Auren was even born.
She rarely mentioned him, even back then, it was only in passing stories like this one that she brought up his existence.
When Auren was younger, he had loved those stories. But as he grew older—when he started to realize the amazing man she spoke of had never been there—he began to hate them.
Hated how she could still love someone who had left her behind.
But then again, his mother had always been too pure for this world.
And so the world had broken her.
He wound the bandage tightly around her head—careful not to pull her hair, not too tight. Just enough.
Then he tucked her into bed. As soon as she was under the covers, her eyelids drooped. She fell asleep almost immediately.
Auren had noticed—his mother couldn't sleep unless she was tucked in. He didn't know why. Another one of the many quirks her madness had brought.
Soon, the soft rhythm of her breathing filled the room.
Auren climbed into his own sheets—but he didn't sleep.
Instead, he dreamed.
Dreaming was his favorite thing. It didn't cost anything. Free to use. Free to keep…unlike hair. He dreamed of the nameless young mage from earlier. Rich. Powerful. Free.
Auren would give anything to be even one of those things. But the mage had all three.
'How greedy.'
......
He didn't remember falling asleep, but he woke to shouting.
"AURY! AURY! AURY!"
His eyes snapped open.
His mother was screaming his name, slamming her head against the wall.
"Shit," he cursed, scrambling out of bed.
"Mom—"
She turned to him. No dreamy happiness now. Just wild, frantic rage.
"AURY!" she shrieked, fists flying.
'Crap. She's spiraling.'
He tried to get close, but her hands had curled into tight little fists, battering anything that got too near. He danced back out of reach, frustration rising in his chest.
"AURY!" she howled, turning back to smash her head against the wall.
"Mom," he whispered. "Please stop."
The sound of flesh smacking stone filled the room.
"Mom," he said louder, pleading now. "Stop."
She continued, as if he wasn't there.
"MOM!" he roared, frustration boiling over. He lunged forward, grabbed her by the shoulders, and shook her. Again and again.
"STOP! JUST STOP! …STOP!"
"Aury?"
He looked into her eyes again. He hated that. Gods, he hated it.
The madness had faded. What remained was a soft, innocent fear.
He should've felt guilty. Should've hugged her and apologized.
But he didn't.
He was tired. Tired of all of it.
"I wish you were dead," he whispered.
"Aury?" Her fingers unclenched. She reached up, gently placing them on either side of his mouth, trying to force his lips into a smile.
Auren stepped back, a bitter laugh escaping him.
"I could say anything right now and you wouldn't understand, would you? If you were going to die, why didn't you just do the damn job properly? Why did you leave your body behind?"
"Aury?" she repeated, urgency creeping into her voice.
He shook his head, still laughing softly. Then he turned, grabbed his shoes, and shoved them on. He took his hat from the table and pulled it low over his face.
"Aury!" she cried out, voice cracking into desperation.
He walked right past her, towards the door.
"Aury!"
Just before he stepped out, he turned back—smiling frostily.
"I hate you."
Then he slammed the door and ran out into the street.