The vase is octagonal (chapter 7)

A life is ended simply and quietly, and she thinks about her father's intentions. An octagonal vase of water is there to share. (1,600~ words)

Elward smiles. “I know it isn't my place to say this, with what has happened to you two children… but thank you.”
Killian raises his hands towards Elward. The young yet old man, sitting on the ground, begins to turn into a beautiful blue light that grows smaller and smaller until it's the size of Aurelia’s palm. Killian takes this ball of light and presses it into his heart, where it passes through his shirt and disappears inside him.
A complex and deep life ended just like that. He lived and then he died. Consumed to prolong the life of someone else.
Survival.
To Father, these people he hurt were just meat. To throw away, to eat, or to feed a measly dog. When she is served a cut of steak, she does not think about the life that it lived. She simply eats, because it is dead and she is not, and she has to eat. Other people may not have the stomach to take the life of another, but to her it's all the same. She will live until she dies, as the cow lived until it died. Maybe it lived a miserable life, or one showered in all the luxuries a cow could imagine. However, even if she has to eat it raw and bleeding, she must. If the cow had been alive and it not only could, but had no choice but to eat her own dead body to survive, it surely would. The cow wouldn’t ponder on the matter, just as she doesn’t think about the steak on her plate.
What would the boy, Killian, think?
…
Her stomach hurts. Unconsciously, she presses her arm into her abdomen.
These thoughts, deep as they may be, don’t relieve any of the pain in her body right now. She struggled to overcome it earlier, but it proves itself to be an endless battle between body and mind. She breathes heavily, nausea building in her stomach as her brain begins to clock the extent of her wounds. Saliva collects in her mouth as her body prepares to vomit but she raises a hand to her lips and holds it back. The smell alone would make existing in this cave unbearable. She can’t afford to waste energy at this point, either, with the fact that she has no idea when Father will be returning.
Something cold touches her back and she flinches violently. Her hand grips her own cheeks in the effort it takes to keep back the breakfast she didn’t even get to eat.
Awful.
“Aurelia?”
It feels impossible to stop her subconscious from gagging, gagging, and gagging again, but her will refuses to die by the time it finally begins to wane. Even as she stops gagging and saliva ceases its incessant pooling in her mouth, the urge to vomit doesn’t go away and she has the surreal awareness that she could still throw up at any moment, without any effort. She breathes heavily, sweat dripping over her brow. Water would be nice right now.
Killian grabs her other hand placed on the floor and leads it to a cold object. She opens her eyes to see a large, oddly shaped vase full of water. It’s opaque, and it must be clay or some kind of molded structure. Its octagonal grooves run from the bottom to the top all the way around, without a spout on the lip or a convenient place to drink from. She could make do by drinking from a corner but only a delicate, slow hand can manage it.
Her own hands are left with residual tremors.
A helpless smile creeps up onto her face. No wonder Father chose this vase to give them water.
“That butler left this behind. You should drink some.”
The vase is awkwardly big. The two of her hands wrapped all the way around isn’t enough to cover its circumference, and while its weight isn’t a problem, the water sloshing close to the top of the lip is. What a terribly inconvenient cup they’ve been given. Not to mention she would’ve had to share it with Elward if she chose to let him live longer. If she wasn’t who she was, that would be incredibly degrading and insulting. Though, Father has done far worse than just forcing her to drink from the same cup as a prisoner.
“Should I help you drink it?”
Killian supports the vase's weight with one hand in order to place her own hand on it as well. Impressive in its own right due to the weight and shape alone, but he even offers to help her. This knight theory might not be wrong: this is chivalry, isn’t it? Perhaps he’s a squire. The thought eases her mind a little.
She has no choice but to let him help her.
He swore a promise in order to make her feel better.
There’s nothing she can do to stop him.
Uncertain but not uncomfortable, she accepts.
“...Please.”
•••
After struggling in agony for a few sips of water�" which was all she could endure before refusing any more of Killian’s help�" exhaustion pours over her body like the terrible vase was tipped over onto her head. It’s miserable and cold and everything hurts. Despite this, a new feeling brews inside. She is almost certain that Father will only return after a day, if not more, and the water tells her that it will definitely be a long time before he bothers to stir up trouble. He probably wants her and Killian to gain more of a kinship so that he can kill either of them off and create endless grief and hardship for the other. Father will let that brew for the time, so she’s safe.
Safe.
Weird.
Definitely weird.
Her head hurts.
At some point, she stopped processing Killian’s presence, and ever since then he has been scaring her left and right through slight touches and softly spoken words. If she wanders into her thoughts he gets the privilege of watching her jump right out.
“Aurelia?” Flinch. She looks up at him, who sits across from her. The glare isn’t intentional. “Sorry. I just wanted to ask if… Well, you heard the story, and my ability, so I wanted to ask...” He hangs his head in shame. “Would you let me use Elward’s energy to heal you?”
“Yes.”
“Right, you…” His head shoots up. “What?”
She meets his eyes calmly. He’s been nervous ever since Elward turned into a blue light and now it’s like their positions have reversed from what they had been last night. Should she make a promise too? Would that tie up the loose ends?
Amusing herself with this idea, Killian’s emotions shake as they enter her mind. His eyes themselves are hardly calm either, with his face contorting strangely. She breathes, finding sanctuary in them. The pain disappears effortlessly.
She holds up her pinky. Speaking is still uncomfortable, so she’d prefer to get the message through without talking much. She’s only said a few words to Killian so far, but she doesn’t want to hurt him. He just had the misfortune of getting involved somehow with Father, and now he’ll probably die down here. Something stings in her chest.
Killian’s expression changes, and he smiles, practically glowing. “Right, Aurelia, I promised to never hurt you. Is that why you accepted?”
She nods. That's isn't the reason, but she doesn't correct it.
His eyes look pretty when he smiles.
“Okay. Thank you, I won’t break it.” She wants to scrunch her eyebrows in confusion. Didn’t he say that the consequence of breaking a promise is cutting off your pinky? Or did he say it was breaking the pinky…
Thinking flippant thoughts, she nearly jumps at Killian’s movement when he crawls on the floor closer to her. Vividly, she realizes that two people of noble or noble equivalence are sitting and crawling on the rough floor of a cave which smells strongly of blood. Their clothes don’t even smell like anything but cave and blood and sweat now. Whoever Killian’s parents are would be shaking their fists in noble anger at the thought, surely.
“I’ll heal the back of your head first. It’s probably the worst. You should have a concussion, at least.”
“Does that,” She begins. She tries not to notice how Killian hangs on her every word. “-mean you’re going to knock me out again?”
He pales.
Which means yes.
“Okay,” She accepts, ignoring the anxiety suddenly wrestling with her heart. Slow breaths, she councils. “You can do that.”
“Yes?” He asks, but promptly reaffirms it when she only looks at him. “Yes! Thank you for your permission, I’m,” He goes red. “I’m glad.” He seems uncomfortable for some reason.
Killian scoots up to her and reaches for her head, only to stop halfway through. He thinks for a long moment, then gathers his strength and proceeds to reach around the back of her head anyway. She watches him approach, as calmly as she can. Warning bells still go off in her mind at his proximity, but she chokes the feeling down by immersing herself in his emotions. It must be because he’s caught off guard at the moment, or he’s forgotten entirely, but his emotions are completely on display for her to feel.
Emotions are weird. Some she can recognize, others she cannot. Because she isn’t talented at deciphering them due to a lack of practice- everyone in the manor always has their guard up- she can’t keep up with the range of emotions he feels and the rate he feels them. Her mind can only tangle itself up at its endless attempts to break down and understand what comes through. Briefly, she wonders if she could ask him to bring up those nice emotions again.
She squashes the thought right as her mind begins to fade out and she tips forward.
This time she dreams about a butterfly. It’s gray and blue and it flies around her head until she feels dizzy, and when she falls down, she wakes up.

Author's Note

The prisoner is dead. Should I have spent longer on the matter of death? I think I moved on too quickly.