Free Web NovelA white ceiling.
White walls.
White bedsheets.
White bandages.
White everywhere.
Pavela felt as if she had been stuffed into a giant marshmallow.
Except this marshmallow wasn't sweet at all.
Only painful.
She tried to move her fingers.
The index finger of her right hand trembled slightly, then a sharp pain shot from her fingertip all the way to her shoulder.
Alright, this time the right hand was completely useless.
She tried moving her left hand.
The left hand was in slightly better condition, at least it could still make a fist.
But when she ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) tried to lift her arm, a sharp, stabbing pain came from her ribs, as if someone was filing her bones.
And the ribs.
Hmm, the ribs again.
Those ribs that had healed incorrectly during her time in the Punishment Camp seemed to have been cracked open again.
Old injuries layered upon new ones.
Her body was practically a scar-ridden chronicle.
Even because she had directly connected her spine to the mech again, the needle marks on her back had started to become inflamed.
Now her entire back was aching dully, as if countless ants were crawling under her skin.
Fortunately, the doctor treating her wounds was professional.
This professionalism was mainly reflected in not asking the patient about her experiences.
It saved her a lot of explaining.
However, this was still the most severe injury she could remember suffering.
More serious than the Night of Calderburg.
That time, although she was also covered in wounds, at least she could move after waking up.
But this time—
She couldn't even turn over.
Pavela closed her eyes and sighed silently in her heart.
The pain itself wasn't a big problem.
She was used to it.
Even if Eleanor didn't let her use those potent painkillers anymore, it was just a matter of enduring a little.
What truly troubled her was—
She was completely immobilized now.
This meant...
Escape was impossible.
Footsteps sounded at the door just in time.
The footsteps were light, steady, carrying a calm, unhurried rhythm. fгeewёbnoѵel.cσm
Pavela didn't need to open her eyes to know who had come.
Her body instinctively tensed.
Then she immediately sucked in a sharp breath from the pain caused by that action.
"Awake?"
Eleanor's voice came from the doorway, carrying a hint of a faint smile.
Pavela didn't answer.
She chose to keep her eyes closed and play dead.
Maybe if she acted convincingly enough, Eleanor would think she was still unconscious and leave?
"I know you're awake."
The footsteps drew closer.
"Your breathing pattern changed."
Damn it.
Pavela cursed inwardly.
She almost forgot that Eleanor was also a veteran who had crawled through battlefields. Such a little trick couldn't fool her.
She resigned herself and opened her eyes.
Then she saw Eleanor standing by the bed, looking down at her.
Those ice-blue eyes held an inscrutable expression.
Not anger.
Not blame.
But something...
That felt very dangerous to her.
"How do you feel?"
Eleanor's voice was very gentle.
So gentle it made Pavela's back run cold.
"Still... okay,"
Pavela's voice was somewhat hoarse, "Just a bit painful."
"A bit painful?"
Eleanor raised an eyebrow, "The doctor said you have seventeen serious injuries all over your body, five of which are recurrences of old wounds. And you call that 'a bit painful'?"
"Uh..."
Pavela swallowed hard with difficulty, "Habit?"
Eleanor didn't speak.
She just looked at Pavela quietly, the emotions in those eyes becoming even more complex.
Then, she reached out her hand.
Pavela instinctively wanted to dodge—but she couldn't move.
She could only watch as that hand came closer and closer...
And then gently landed on her forehead.
"You have a fever."
Eleanor's voice was still very gentle, but with a hint of reproach in her tone.
"The doctor said your wounds are infected and you need proper rest."
Her fingers moved slightly, brushing aside the messy silver hair on Pavela's forehead, the movement as gentle as if she were stroking a wounded little animal.
Pavela froze.
This action was too intimate.
So intimate it left her unsure how to react.
"That..."
She tried to say something to break this strange atmosphere, "Eleanor, I—"
"Shh."
Eleanor's finger gently pressed against her lips, cutting her off.
"Now is not the time to talk."
Her finger lingered on Pavela's lips for a second, then slowly moved away.
The touch was light, soft, yet it made Pavela's face flush red instantly.
"What you need to do now,"
Eleanor's voice carried an indisputable authority, "is to lie still and let me take care of you."
Take care?
Alarm bells rang loudly in Pavela's mind.
That word coming from Eleanor's mouth didn't sound like anything good.
"I, I can myself—"
"You can yourself what?"
Eleanor interrupted her, a meaningful smile curling at the corner of her mouth.
"Change your own bandages? Feed yourself? Use the toilet by yourself?"
Pavela's face turned even redder.
"You can't even turn over now,"
Eleanor continued, a hint of teasing in her tone, "What strength are you trying to show off?"
As she spoke, she took out a small basin and a towel from the bedside cabinet.
"The doctor said you need regular sponge baths to prevent further infection of your wounds."
Pavela's eyes widened.
"W-wait—"
"What?"
Eleanor dipped the towel into the warm water, then wrung it out.
Her movements were elegant, as if performing some kind of ritual.
"You're not going to say you want someone else to wipe you down, are you?"
"N-no, but I can myself—"
"You can't even lift your hand."
Eleanor's voice was terrifyingly calm.
"Or perhaps, you want the nurses from the infirmary to do it?"
She paused, the smile at the corner of her mouth deepening.
"Those nurses are all men."
Pavela fell silent.
She found herself checkmated.
Completely and utterly checkmated.
Eleanor seemed very satisfied with her reaction.
She sat down on the edge of the bed and gently pressed the warm towel against Pavela's face.
"Don't move."
Her voice was soft, carrying a peculiar gentleness.
"I'll be very careful."
The towel felt warm and soft, with a faint herbal scent.
Eleanor's movements were indeed very light, very careful, avoiding the wounds, gently wiping the sweat from Pavela's face.
But the problem was—
Her movements were too slow.
So slow that each wipe felt like a deliberate, drawn-out torment.
Pavela could feel the warmth of Eleanor's fingers through the towel.
She could feel Eleanor's breath gently brushing against her cheek.
She could smell the faint scent on her.
This feeling was too strange.
So strange it made her extremely uncomfortable.
"Why is your face so red?"
Eleanor's voice sounded by her ear, carrying a hint of teasing.
"Is it from the fever, or... some other reason?"
"It's, it's the fever,"
Pavela's voice stammered, "Definitely the fever."
"Is that so?"
Eleanor's finger lightly traced her cheek, as if confirming something.
"But your face is even redder now than before."
Pavela wanted to turn her head away, but she couldn't move.
She could only let Eleanor's fingers wander over her face, as if admiring some interesting toy.
"Alright, the face is done."
Eleanor finally withdrew her hand, but there was no indication in her tone that she intended to stop.
"Next is the neck."
Pavela's body tensed again.
"Neck?"
"Yes, neck."
Eleanor dipped the towel back into the warm water, "Next is the collarbone, shoulders, arms..."
She paused, the smile at the corner of her mouth becoming even more dangerous.
"And... other places."
Pavela's pupils contracted sharply.
Her mind raced frantically in that instant, trying to find any way to extricate herself.
But her body was completely unresponsive.
Right hand useless.
Left hand unable to lift.
Ribs hurt with every move.
Couldn't even turn over.
She was trapped.
Completely and utterly trapped.
Eleanor's fingers had already begun to undo the collar of her hospital gown.
The movement was slow, light, yet irresistible.
Pavela felt her heart beating so fast it was about to leap out of her chest.
Her face was already as red as a ripe tomato.
Nooooooooo!!!
