I flinched backwards, almost leaping, uttering a low murmur of surprise. She was awake! Awake at last.
At least, she looked awake. She did not make a sound or move, appearing lifeless under a blanket of towels. However, the slight flit of her eyes and its faint glimmer, however dull, told me she was alive. Familiarity returned as I found the eerie innocence in her gaze, as if she was oblivious to her own ailment. What drew her back to the present were the dark rings under her eyes, making her look tired and defeated.
Easing my shoulders, I stared at her in silence. She patiently gazed back, continuing to lie still. Gradually, her wide eyes began to close, stopping halfway to retain sight of me. With them, her innocent expression disappeared, making her look miserable, sick with exhaustion.
“… Hello.”
I did not know how else to greet her. We were not in good standing with each other, I don’t think. Well, I was not sure how she felt about the whole situation. Was she scared? Wary? She ran away, after all, so she must have felt some sort of guilt. Yet, it was fine enough to gaze straight into my eyes without a faze. Should I ask how she felt? Was it the appropriate time to bring up such a question? It did not feel quite right.
“Are you hungry?”
Alice remained still. After some time, she tilted her head over and over, barely shaking it.
“… Are you sure?”
She shook her head, even less convincingly this time.
“…”
After watching her a bit longer, I finally moved away, into the kitchen. Leaving the towel on the counter, I took out a teacup and poured in what remaining water I had in the teapot. Returning to the drawing room, I crouched down beside her. Her eyes lazily followed me as high up as they could see. Holding the cup with one hand, I placed the other on her head, gently patting.
“Here, you ought to drink something at the very least. Are you able to sit up?”
Without a nod or shake, she continued to stare up at me before dropping her eyes to the cup I held near her stomach.
“Come, now,” I encouraged, patting her again. “Sit up.”
She did not.
“It will do no good if the water spills all over your face. Come on, now.”
Still no movement.
“If you don’t drink anything, you’ll faint again.”
Finally, after a long pause, she started to wriggle, barely sliding up the couch arm. I set aside the cup and helped her, sliding my hands behind her back and under her knees, lifting her a bit until she was upright. Seeing she had no desire to move, I held the cup for her, pressing it up to her lips and slowly tipping it until the water just touched her lips, letting her sip little at a time. She kept her eyes lowered, seemingly watching the water ebbing against her mouth.
Eventually, she drank all that was left. Her gaze did not return to me, and instead blankly stared forward. Standing up again, I left her once more without another word and made myself supper. Feeling lazy to cook two separate meals, I made porridge and ate some of it. Scooping up a bowl for each of us, I left hers sitting at the dining table, giving it time to cool down a bit as I ate. I wondered if the savory smell would be enough to lure Alice off the couch and crawl on over. Taking a few bites, I waited in anticipation. Even just a little peek over the back of the couch. I distracted myself with last week’s paper in the meantime, idly shuffling through the pages, not finding anything worth rereading. Alas, she did not reveal herself, and I set the paper aside, giving the rest of my attention to my meal.
It was a weird feeling, as if I owed her for the misery she went through, when really I shouldn’t be the one to blame. She probably thought I would be angry. And I was angry. Was. Rightfully so, I think. It was such a risk to keep her here. I should expect better from her. Yet, now, seeing her again, I could not muster that anger. All I could think of at the moment was how I could possibly nurse her. Was I really that soft?
After a while, I set a hand on the side of the bowl and felt it was cool enough. I left the table, giving the porridge a stir as I approached. Rounding to the other side, though, I discovered a dark silhouette of the black cat, on the couch with the spirit girl. Abbey was sniffing around, checking the numerous towels spread about. Alice, meanwhile, looked stiff as a board, eyes wide, watching Abbey poke at the foot of where she laid. She looked really uncomfortable with the cat being so close to her.
“Abbey, come down here,” I cooed.
With the flick of her tail, the cat looked up, eyes square and naive, as though nothing unusual was going on.
“Leave her be for right now.”
The cat did not understand until I set down the bowl and lifted her off the couch. Guided gently to the floor, Abbey glanced up one more time before moving away towards the kitchen. Seeing her move towards her bowl, I straightened and retrieved my footstool by the drawing room bookshelf, just so I could have something to sit on this time around. Alice continued to stare off in the general direction she last saw the cat.
“Right,” I started. “You really should need to eat something.”
However, she still paid no heed. Looking closer, I could not help but notice something abnormal about her. The sides of her mouth were wet, the drool betraying her true hunger. Yet, she held her fearful gaze, unresponsive to whatever I was saying, or the savory aroma I held in front of her. Even under the warm, dim light of the dining room fixture, her skin appeared ghastly pale. It was as if the sight of the cat seemingly sickened the girl.
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