Laurence gently closed the door, leaving only Amortha and the unconscious man lying in his bed in the cold, silent room where only Muggle machinery made ticking sounds.
As the emaciated body of the man whose life was reaching its end came into view, Amortha's own body trembled uncontrollably, and the expression that had been blank turned into an unreadable complexity. It felt as if a heavy stone had settled in his heart.
He walked slowly to the window, pulled back the curtains, opened the tightly closed window shutters, allowing the cool breeze to carry away the unpleasant odors of the room's medicinal drugs and decay. Then, leaning against the window frame, Amortha took out a cigarette and put it under his nose, smelling it before restoring his peaceful gaze fell on the man whose already emaciated cheeks had become triangular.
"Alas--"
After a long while, Amortha uttered another incoherent exclamation.
Perhaps the cold wind that intruded into the patient's room made him uncomfortable. With a confused murmur and a moan, the man on the bed slowly opened his eyes.
He stared at the stark white ceiling with his hollow eyes. It seemed that after about five minutes, some clarity began to seep into his cloudy pupils.
Quickly, the man on the brink of death became aware of someone in the room. He looked toward the window, but the blinding light made his vision blurred. He was puzzled why someone would dare to open a window in the room, so he blinked fiercely, trying to see who was standing before him.
The slight coolness of the wind made his stiff consciousness more fluid, and the blurry shadows slowly receded. As the person's appearance became clearer, the man on the bed opened his mouth wider and wider, and his swollen eyes were almost bursting out of his sockets.
The silence continued, watching each other, neither introduced themselves but both knew who the other was.
"Can I have a cigar...since being diagnosed, Laurence has forbidden me from smoking one, hehe, I think it's all the same now--"
Amortha tossed the cigarette in his hand over, saying in a faint tone,
"There are no cigars, take this as a substitute."
The man picked up the slightly deformed cigarette, gave a displeased sneer, but in the end, he didn't persist in his request. He held the cigarette trembling in his mouth and muttered,
"Light it--"
Click!
After a crisp snap, the tip of the cigarette sparked, emitting a thin cloud of blue smoke.
The man inhaled deeply from the cigarette, displaying a look of pleasure. With the help of nicotine, his pale brown eyes regained some vitality, and even his withered body seemed to have recovered some strength. He managed to prop himself up a little more comfortably against the headboard.
"What was that, a trick?"
"Let it be a magic trick--" Amortha yawned lazily.
For a person who might die the next second, there would be nothing extraordinary in the world. The man nodded, and did not continue to ask any further.
"So to say--"
The irritating smoke caused pressure on the man's already weakened internal organs, causing him to cough twice heavily. He then casually wiped away a drop of blood at the corner of his mouth before breathing rapidly for a moment. Then, with difficulty, he said,
"It was Laurence who found you, wasn't it? I know he has been searching for you behind my back. Especially in the two or three years since I was diagnosed, he spent quite a bit of effort on this."
Amortha pulled out another cigarette, suddenly feeling an overwhelming urge to light it. But in the end, he overcame the desire, merely twirling it in his hand.
"If I were you--"
Amortha gave a languid expression, "I wouldn't waste the little time left on such a boring question."
The man nodded in acknowledgment, then fell silent. The cigarette in his hand was burning quickly, the ash falling and burning into ugly black spots on the pristine bedding.
"What kind of life are you living now?"
This time, it was Amortha who fell into silence, rubbing his brow, his usually unwavering gaze darting around the room.
"How should I answer your question?" Amortha sighed. "A life of freedom, a life filled with hope. In short... it's been decent, I suppose."
"Mm... that's good then." The man muttered.
The two men seemed to have no desire to speak anymore. The man on the bed cherished the last cigarette of his life, gazing blankly at the slow but determined fire that consumed it. Memories flashed through his mind one after another, ultimately freezing on a blurred face. He wanted to see through the fog on that face, but regardless of how hard he tried, the fog never dissipated. So, he could only smile ironically at himself...
"I even can't remember what the woman looks like..."
"It's understandable." Amortha said calmly, "After all, many years have passed. I can't remember either--"
There was a hint in his words, and the man on the bed, who accurately captured this information, paused for a moment and then asked, "So to say, she... I mean, your mother...?"
"You guessed correctly," Amortha nodded, "She's not been around for many years--"
Perhaps due to the long-standing habit of automatically activating brain closure when emotional turmoil occurs, Amortha's tone always remained incomprehensible calm. This kind of calmness made the man feel a bit jarring, and even angry, but after thinking carefully for a moment, he knew that he had no right to say anything.
"So--"
Seeing that the man seemed to have nothing more to say, Amortha stood up from his slumped position and nodded towards him.
"Rest well, Mr. Brain, I'll be leaving now."
The words "Mr. Brain" uttered by Amortha burned his pride like fire, his breathing grew rapid, and his body, like a flickering candle, suddenly surged with an inexplicable strength.
"Are you angry with me?"
Amortha's footsteps came to a stop at the head of the bed, and he looked at the man's eyes for a long time before speaking in a relaxed manner,
"There's nothing to hate, Mr. Brain, after all, you're just an innocent victim."
The man collapsed back onto the bed, his expression becoming despondent. The strength that had surged through him just moments ago was quickly stripped away, and it seemed as though he could hear the footsteps of Death growing clearer.
"Can you please call Lawrence for me?" the man called out to Amortha as he walked to the door. "I want to make some things clear."
ps: I will update in the evening from now on.
First, a chapter for the first patron of this book (The Moonlight Does Not Stain the Edge of the Sky), and I will finish the rest as soon as possible.
