Uncanny Valley

The turquoise light finally ceases, leaving behind only the ambient glow of the cottage’s lanterns. 

“My ankle… i-it doesn’t hurt.” I wiggle my toes, flex my foot, and feel nothing but the smooth, effortless glide of muscle and bone working in perfect harmony. 

I press my fingers into my skin. There's no tenderness, no lingering ache, not even a phantom pain. It’s as if the injury never happened.

Clovis rises to her feet in a single, fluid motion. Her crimson eyes hold an unnerving stillness, a depth that seems to look past my skin and into the chaotic mess of my thoughts. 

She doesn't seem tired, or even particularly bothered by the miracle she just performed. It was as casual for her as breathing.

“A bad break.” she repeats, her voice still a dry rustle of leaves. “But the flesh remembers its proper shape. The river water likely helped begin the process.”

My mind snaps back to the shimmering quality I’d noticed, the gentle warmth. It wasn’t my imagination. It was magic. My idea of this world tilting on its axis. 

“Thank you, h-how did you know I dipped it into the river?” I manage to say, the words feeling utterly inadequate. How do you properly thank someone for rewriting reality on your behalf?

“The water of the river leaves a whisper of its work.” Clovis replied indifferently.

Before I can poke and prod that response further, Hakota steps forward and places a small leather pouch into Clovis’s outstretched hand. 

The clink of coins in her hand, a distinct but discernible sound. So, magic is a service and it has a price. I guess that makes sense.

“We’re grateful, Clovis.” Elara says, her voice sincere with relief as she places a comforting hand on my shoulder. 

Clovis gives a curt nod, her gaze lingering on me for a fraction of a second too long. “Some wounds are not so quick to fix. See that you tend to those as well.” 

With that cryptic parting shot, she turns away, busying herself with a bundle of dried herbs, the audience concluded. Her slender fingers move with practiced efficiency, tying off the bundle with a piece of twine.

The message is clear: our time is up.

The walk back to Hakota and Elara’s home is surreal. Each step on my healed ankle is a silent explosion in my mind. 

The cobblestones feel rigid and sincere beneath my sandals. A notable distinction to the continued revelation in my mind, I truly can’t fathom how my broken ankle is now repaired just like that. I deliberately put more weight on it, testing it, half-expecting a searing pain to shoot up my leg. 

But there is nothing. It makes my performance at the gate look like a lifetime ago, a role played by a different person in a different world.

I watch Hakota’s back as he leads the way. Elara walks beside me, her presence a silent reassurance. They don’t press me with questions, for which I am immensely grateful. I don’t think I could form a coherent sentence right now anyway.

Back inside Hakota and Elara’s home, the comforting smell of stew and woodsmoke wraps around me once more. Elara bustles about, her initial suspicion about me has now completely vanished.

“You must be starving, and those clothes are a mess.”she says, as she presses a folded bundle of cloth into my hands. 

“It’s just a simple nightgown, but it will be better than sleeping in that damp tunic. The stew is almost ready. You’ll eat, and then you’ll rest.”

Hakota gestures to a small room just off the main living space. “You can sleep in here for the night. It’s not much, but it’s warm and dry.”

“Th-thank you so much for all you’ve done for me, I don’t know how I’ll repay you.” My voice feels hollow to my own ears. My gratitude is a pebble drop in their vast ocean of their kindness.

“Don’t worry Shikara, we’re happy to help those in need.” they both reply in unison, which makes me feel a little better about their charity. Elara’s smile is genuine, crinkling the corners of her eyes. Hakota gives me a gentle nod, his expression one of simple, unassuming decency.

I retreat into the small room, closing the door behind me. It contains little more than a straw-stuffed mattress on a low frame and a small, high window that lets in a sliver of moonlight.

I strip off my ruined clothes, the damp fabric clings unpleasantly to my skin. I pull the clean nightgown over my head. A simple comfort like this feels monumental. 

I sit there, on the edge of the bed and just stare at my foot, now clad in nothing. No swelling. No discoloration. Just my own two feet, ready to carry me.

A quiet knock comes at the door, and Elara enters with a wooden bowl of stew. Steam rises from it, carrying the rich aroma of meat, root vegetables, and herbs. She places it on the floor beside the bed along with a wooden spoon and a cup of water.

“Eat,” she says softly. “It will help.” She doesn't wait for a reply, just gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze before leaving and closing the door behind her.

I pick up the bowl. It’s warm in my hands. I lift the spoon, my movements slow, almost robotic, and take the first bite. The stew is thick and savory, the meat tender, the vegetables soft. 

With each spoonful, a little bit of heat spreads through my chest. I eat slowly, deliberately, focusing on the sensation of the meal, my first meal in my new life.

Finishing the stew, I set the bowl aside and lie back on the straw mattress. I stare up at the wooden ceiling, the moonlight from the high window paints a pale stripe across the beams.

Alone, in the quiet, the dam holding back the flood of  today’s events finally breaks.

Monsters. Elves. Magic. The words are a ludicrous procession marching through my mind, yet I saw them. I felt them. Clovis’s pointed ears, the impossible healing. It wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t a hallucination. It was real.

All I wanted was a chance to live, to be brave, and I’ve been thrown onto a stage grander and more daunting than I could have ever imagined.

My mind is a whirlwind, but my body has reached its limit. I close my eyes. 

“Some wounds are not so quick to fix.” Clovis’s voice rings in my mind.

“What did she mean by that? I feel like a brand new person so why would she say that?” I don’t have the brain power right now to dissect it, but I can’t let it go so easily, I’ll need to keep it in mind for the future. 

The rustle of the straw, the close hum of Hakota and Elara’s voices, the memory of turquoise light, it all becomes white noise as I enter a dreamless dark sleep.