In the end, after my conversation with Mrs. Farris, I lay awake almost the entire night, thinking about Kayla. More precisely, about how I absolutely needed to talk to her. No matter what, I could no longer watch what was happening with indifference. I could not allow this situation to continue for even one more day.
I could not just stand by while my beloved character voluntarily locked herself in that dark room, as if in a tomb, refusing the world beyond its walls.
So the next morning, when it was time for another visit to Kayla, I climbed the stairs to the second floor with the determination of someone heading into a real battle.
This time, I knocked on the door with far less timidity than yesterday, and far more confidence.
"Come in," came an even, calm voice from inside.
I took a deep breath, pushed the door open, and stepped once again into the almost completely darkened room.
The only source of light remained the small lamp by the bed — a weak, lonely flame barely dispersing the thick gloom. The air here felt heavy and stagnant, as if the windows had not been opened in a very long time.
"Greetings, Your Grace..."
"You may begin," Kayla interrupted me before I could finish.
No greeting. No extra words. Only a short, dry command — as if she wanted to reduce our communication to an absolute minimum.
But, strangely enough, this did not bother me at all.
Not yet.
I silently approached and did what I came for.
Like yesterday, I carefully touched her forehead and channeled the holy power inside. The warm energy gently spread through Kayla’s body, penetrating deeper and deeper — into her blood, bones, and very flesh, cleansing the ingrained corruption step by step.
And each time, feeling her condition from within, I understood more and more just how serious it was.
The corruption had spread through her body too deeply — like poisonous roots that had entirely entangled a tree, leaving almost no healthy part untouched.
I already knew: I would not be able to fully heal her quickly. It would take me no less than half a year of daily treatment, patience, and care.
But I was ready.
Because at the end of this path, Kayla would not only be free from pain.
She would be able to see again!
Only I alone knew this, however.
For Kayla herself — as for everyone else in this house — my divine power still looked like nothing more than a rare but ordinary painkiller. Something that briefly eased her suffering and nothing more.
And until a certain point, no one was supposed to learn the truth.
When the procedure ended, I almost immediately noticed the changes.
The tension gradually left her face. The crease between her brows smoothed out, her breathing became more even, her shoulders relaxed slightly. The painful shadow that constantly lay upon her features seemed to recede for a moment — and then, through the exhaustion, that same beauty I had once fallen in love with on the pages of the novel emerged once more.
Cold. Noble. Almost frighteningly beautiful.
And as always, looking at Kayla, I again barely restrained the urge to simply cover my face with my hands from an excess of emotion.
"Your Grace, I have finished," I said, withdrawing my hand.
"Good..." Kayla’s voice sounded tired but still even. "Then you may go."
She had already turned toward the wall, making it abundantly clear that the conversation was over. Not a single extra word. Not the slightest desire to prolong my presence beyond what was necessary.
But I was not about to leave so easily.
Taking a deep breath, I gathered all my resolve and, instead of heading for the door, took a step forward.
"Your Grace..."
Kayla, who had her back to me, frowned slightly upon hearing my voice again.
"You are still here?" she asked with displeasure.
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Leave. Did you not finish?" Her voice grew colder and harsher. "I want to rest."
"I will do that," I replied. "But before that... may I ask you for something?"
"Hm?" Her crimson brows drew together slightly. "And what might that be? Does it concern the treatment?"
"Almost," I said cautiously. "In fact... I wanted to ask you to leave your room more often."
A heavy, icy silence instantly fell over the room.
Kayla’s expression changed noticeably. Her gaze grew colder, and the tension in her shoulders became more pronounced.
"What kind of sudden request is this?" she said in an even but frighteningly cold voice. "Why do you care about such things in the first place?"
"Nothing of the sort," I explained hastily. "It is just... you were a warrior before. You yourself must understand how important movement and fresh air are for the body’s recovery. If you would at least occasionally leave your room, it would help your condition. You would feel better!"
I tried to speak sincerely, genuinely attempting to convey my concern to her.
But Kayla only smiled grimly.
"Help my recovery?" she repeated with almost venomous irony. "Make it better? What nonsense are you spouting? How is fresh air supposed to help me?"
"I..."
"Do I look like a living corpse to you?" Kayla cut me off. "What would walks or physical activity change if my body is already practically falling apart?"
After these words, for a moment, I truly found it difficult to argue.
Because she was right.
Her illness was not an ordinary malaise that could be eased with rest, walks, or a cup of herbal tea. The corruption was slowly devouring her from within — day by day, layer by layer, like poison that had sunk in too deep. And no fresh breeze by itself could stop that.
And yet...
"I understand," I said. "But right now, I am not talking only about your body."
Kayla frowned almost imperceptibly.
"What?.."
"Your mental state is also very important," I continued cautiously. "Whether you realize it or not... constant loneliness and living in confinement are destroying you no less than the illness. From what I have heard, you have not left this room for half a year."
"..."
"That is why I am asking you to at least listen to my words a little," I said softly. "Not as a stranger... but as your healer."
After this, Kayla fell silent.
And at that moment, I desperately wanted to see her face.
To understand whether my words had affected her. Whether they had elicited any response at all.
But the thick blindfold still concealed her eyes, leaving me only tiny details — the tense line of her lips, the barely noticeable crease between her brows, the slight movement of her shoulders. From these fragments, I had to guess her feelings, like assembling a fragile mosaic from shards.
The silence stretched on ever longer.
I was beginning to fear that I would simply be shown the door.
But then Kayla finally spoke.
"I do not care about my mental state."
Her voice was even. Calm. Without a single emotion.
And that was what frightened me most of all.
I involuntarily froze.
"...What?"
"Even if one day I completely lose my mind," Kayla continued in that same empty, cold voice, "I will not care."
She turned slightly toward the wall, and even without seeing her eyes, I felt that heavy, infinite emptiness — as if before me stood a person who had long since stopped expecting anything from their own life.
"...No, it would even be better if I completely lost my mind," she added quietly, and a pained smirk touched her lips. "At least then I would stop feeling all of this."
I froze again.
At that moment, my heart truly shattered into a thousand tiny pieces.
It took immense effort for me to keep a straight face and not show too clearly how deeply her words had wounded me.
And yet...
"How can you speak like that?.." My voice trembled treacherously despite myself.
Kayla frowned almost imperceptibly.
"What?"
"Your life..." I faltered, feeling a heavy lump rise in my throat, "does it mean nothing at all to you?"
Kayla clearly had not expected to hear something like this from an ordinary hired healer.
For a moment, her face went still, becoming almost impenetrable, and then she chuckled quietly. Without a trace of humor.
"What business is that of yours?" she asked in an even, almost empty voice. "You are merely a healer. A person hired to monitor my condition. Why should you care about my thoughts or feelings at all?"
"Precisely because I monitor your condition, I do care!" I blurted out too quickly and too emotionally.
Kayla fell silent.
And I already knew I was treading on very thin ice.
"If you agreed to treatment after all..." I continued more quietly, trying to gather my thoughts, "that means you have not completely given up yet. Somewhere deep inside, you still want to live. Otherwise, why would you accept my help at all?"
As soon as these words were spoken, her expression instantly turned cold.
"That is none of your concern," Kayla cut off sharply.
"..."
"I will say this plainly," she continued, and her voice now sounded hard, almost like steel. "If you want to continue working in this house, do not meddle in my personal life. Just do your job. Understood?"
For a second, I froze.
And then I suddenly heard my own voice:
"What if I cannot do that?"
At that moment, Kayla raised her head sharply.
Despite the blindfold covering her eyes, I suddenly had the feeling that she was truly looking directly at me — right into my face.
"What the hell did you just say?.."
I took a step forward.
Just one short step — but it felt as if I had crossed some invisible boundary.
And then I said quietly, but firmly:
"Because... I care about your life very much, Your Grace."