....Helps the medicine go down

Nimdok stirred in his bed, his limbs heavy and his head swimming. The room was dim, the curtains drawn, allowing only the softest gray light to seep through. His body felt strange—numb, disconnected, and warm where it should be cold. A rag, damp and heated, brushed against his face.

“You’re awake,” came Darcia’s voice, soft and soothing, yet carrying that undertone that always unsettled him.

He blinked, trying to sit up, but she gently pushed him back down with a firm hand. “Don’t strain yourself. Ms. Varn found you in the street. You collapsed, Nimdok. A whole day has passed.” She dipped the rag into a basin of water, wrung it out, and resumed her slow, deliberate motions over his face.

As awareness returned, so did the discomfort. The sheets clung to his bare skin, and with a start, he realized he was nude beneath them. “My clothes—” he began, his voice hoarse.

“Had to be removed,” Darcia interjected with a faint smile. “You were a mess, brother. Feverish. Weak. I couldn’t leave you like that.” Her gaze lingered as she smoothed the sheet over his chest, her fingers brushing against his skin longer than necessary. “I took care of you, as I always do.”

Nimdok swallowed hard, the weight of her presence pressing down on him. “Thank you,” he murmured, though the words felt hollow.

Darcia’s attire did little to ease his unease. She wore a nightgown, thin and clinging, its neckline dipping low. It was the kind of thing a woman might wear for her lover, not her brother. She caught him glancing and smiled—a knowing, teasing smile. “You’re blushing,” she said, tilting her head. “Have I embarrassed you?”

He stammered, “I—I’m just—”

“Relax, Nimdok,” she interrupted, her voice honeyed now. “You’re safe here. With me.” She set the rag aside and leaned closer, her hair spilling over her shoulders. The scent of lavender and something sweet—cherries—reached him. “I even thought of using the fairy-tale kiss of love to wake you. Like in the stories we read as children.” She giggled, her lips curling into a smirk. “I might’ve tried. Do you taste cherries?”

Nimdok felt his cheeks flush further, and he looked away, suddenly very aware of the heat in his body. Darcia’s laughter softened as she reached out to brush his hair from his forehead. “You’re so handsome, even now,” she murmured. “It’s no wonder people say such things about us.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and unspoken. He couldn’t bring himself to meet her gaze. “Darcia, I—”

“Hush.” Her hand lingered on his cheek. “You need to rest. Don’t let silly rumors trouble you.” But then, almost as an afterthought, she added, “Though, if they did… would that be so terrible?”

Her words cut through him like a blade, sharp and precise. He wanted to protest, to push her away, to do anything—but he was trapped, not by her physical presence but by the weight of her care, her devotion, her love that teetered on the edge of something darker.

Darcia stood, smoothing her gown. “Rest, Nimdok. I’ll bring you something to eat later.” She paused in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the dim light of the hall. “You really are beautiful, you know. Even more so when you’re vulnerable.” With that, she disappeared, leaving him alone, the room suffocating in her absence.

Nimdok lay there, his heart pounding, his thoughts racing. The warmth of her touch lingered, unwelcome and undeniable. He stared at the ceiling, willing himself to forget, but the shadows of her words clung to him, wrapping tighter with every passing moment