Aira had just gotten back to her room when she instantly began to pace back and forth, unable to sit down on the bed.
Her heart thumped hard in her chest—each beat loud and violent, like a fist against a hollow door—and her forehead was drenched completely in sweat as she went back and forth, her bare feet whispering against the cold stone floor.
The anxiety she felt had doubled from the moment she got back, even as she recalled the bloody scenes she had seen while she waited for Rymora to return. The memory of torn flesh and lifeless eyes flashed behind her lids each time she blinked, stealing the breath from her lungs.
’Relax! The plan will work!’ She thought to herself, even as she held back the desperate urge to find the bag herself and simply eat every single thing in it, no matter how vile. Hunger twisted inside her like a serpent, but fear—the true kind—kept her frozen between panic and revulsion.
But a few more seconds of silence, of her being in the room alone and still no signs of Rymora, was all it took before Aira could no longer wait. The silence roared too loudly in her ears. She simply went ahead to find the bag deep in the wardrobe where Rymora had placed it, the wood creaking with accusation as she opened it.
Picking it out—even as her fingers trembled slightly—she slowly opened it, only to flinch back as a foul, fetid stench surged upward, coiling into her nose and stabbing at her throat like a poison. The smell was thick, rotting, stomach-churning. It hung heavy in the air, coating her tongue with something metallic and moldy.
Her stomach rumbled in agony, low and miserable, even as her face flushed red, her expression contorting with disgust. Lips pulled tight, brows furrowed, and she sucked in a breath through clenched teeth.
She was yet to see what had been carefully wrapped together, but the smell was enough for Aira to realize that it was definitely not something she could take lightly. Whatever lay inside that bag, it was meant to hurt.
’Rymora! Where did she go?’ she grumbled under her breath, voice tight, even as she distanced herself from the bag and went ahead to sit back on the edge of the bed, arms wrapped tightly around her middle.
’Anything but maggots!’ she mumbled to herself, her voice hollow with dread, realizing there were worse things than death. Her throat burned. Her pride shriveled. She would rather die fast than have to eat something so filthy.
But again she waited. And just when she had decided to go ahead and open the wrapped thing inside the container—her resolve crumbling by the second—Aira was relieved to hear the door gently pushed open. The soft sound sliced through her panic like a blade. Even more relief flooded her chest as she saw Rymora walk in, even if her expression didn’t look nice in the slightest.
Before Aira could ask her if she was fine, she watched Rymora dash quickly to the table and pick up ink and paper, her hands moving in a sharp, frantic rhythm as she scribbled down as quickly as she could.
"Are you okay?" Aira carefully asked, her voice thin with restraint, even as she watched Rymora glance over at the place on the floor where the opened bag of rotten wraps had been placed.
Glancing back to read what Rymora had written the second she placed it right up in her face.
"You’re going to eat it?" she asked, her voice touched with disbelief and concern, her brows furrowed so tightly that Aira’s already thin courage crumbled down into half what it was worth.
"Isn’t that the plan? It’s definitely better than fighting!" Aira responded in a stiff tone, her voice coated with fear even as she tried not to squeeze her fingers together too tightly. Her nails dug into her palms regardless.
"If I fight I will definitely die!" she continued, her eyes wide—haunted—watching as Rymora quickly began to scribble again.
"If you eat it! You might become sicker than we planned! I haven’t had time to get the stomach antidote! I got interrupted!" she wrote, the words jagged across the page, and Aira read it with a frown spreading across her face like a shadow.
"You make it seem like I have a choice," Aira responded flatly, her voice dark, heavy with a quiet, desperate resolve. It was either being too sick to fight, or fighting and having her dead body dragged out like another offering to Zyren’s bloodlust.
She could beg Zyren—but even thinking that name made her chest tighten with something worse than dread. If she did, she could already imagine the price he would demand for his help, one she wasn’t prepared to pay. The way he looked at her... no. Never.
For a moment, Rymora didn’t say a word. Her lips parted, then closed. She finally shook her head slowly, eyes cast down in reluctant defeat, admitting that Aira indeed had no choice in the matter if she wanted to survive.
With nothing left to say, Rymora gingerly stood up and walked straight up to the bag, picking it up even as Aira carefully glared at it, like it might bite.
She raised her fingers to her nose, pressing them tightly as Rymora slowly moved closer to where she sat on the bed, her pace slow and cautious like she was approaching a wounded animal.
Placing the bag on the floor, she brought out one of the wrapped nylon contents and placed it in her lap, beginning to unravel it with a deep frown on her face. The scent hit them both like a physical blow.
The smell wasn’t something Rymora herself was used to, and it thickened the air the faster she unraveled it—revealing pieces of food that were clearly rotten. Mold-speckled. Wet. Putrid.
Aira gagged simply from the sight of it, jerking back in shock and disgust, a hand flying to her mouth.
"There’s no way I’m eating that!" she said, eyes wide, voice strained, even as Rymora shook her head—not speaking, but her concern was palpable. Her eyes silently pleaded with Aira, asking her what else she could possibly do.
Without speaking, Rymora shoved the wrap from her lap right towards Aira, who instinctively took a step back. Her entire body recoiled, but Rymora clearly urged her to step forward and take it from her hands.