Omen laid on the small bed like he did every day, the thin blanket doing little to hide the sharp lines of his bony frame.
His black hair, rough and tangled, fell across his face, sticking slightly to the sweat on his pale forehead.
His eyes were covered with a clean white cloth, tied tightly but still gently enough that the world beyond sight didn't matter.
Omen had long stopped caring what the world looked like.
A soft, warm sensation brushed across his skin, the touch of a wet cloth moving carefully across his shoulder, arms, and chest.
It smelled faintly of soap and something citrus, a scent that contrasted with the constant bitterness of his very being.
His skin tingled under the caress, not from comfort, but from the awareness that something soft was brushing against him.
"Careful there," The 17-year-old boy muttered, his voice dry and low.
The words sounded thin in the room, but they carried the weight of his deep fatigue.
Rebekah, the girl who was 'cleaning' him, hummed softly, her long black hair falling over his shoulders as she leaned closer.
The strands brushed against his pale skin, catching the soft morning light that escaped the windows of the small apartment.
She wore black shorts that barely reached mid-thigh and an oversized blue t-shirt that hung loosely over her frame, the sleeves brushing past her elbows.
The girl of around a similar age to Omen moved with quiet precision, wiping him gently, never hurried and never harsh.
Her developed boobs shifted slightly with each movement, and Omen would sometimes be attacked by the sheer softness of it while she bent over to clean his sides.
"I told you to stay still," the girl said softly, though there was no sharpness in her voice. Just the faintest sign of a blush, the kind that belonged to someone who refused to let misery take over them.
He made no answer, only the slight twitch of his shoulders under her careful hands.
Every day, Omen's routine was the same. He was cleaned, dressed, fed, and left alone with his thoughts.
But the thoughts were not easy.
They drifted endlessly, towards the outside world he could never see.
He could hear it, faintly, surely through the small television mounted to the right of the bed. The sound was a constant companion, giving updates on news, events, and the lives that moved on without him.
Today, a voice cut through the usual chatter: warm, commanding, and familiar.
"…and as the disease spreads across the northern districts, Priestess Sarah has been dispatched to administer the cure.
Her efforts have saved thousands already, and more are expected to be safe within the week…" Omen's ears twitched, Sarah, the Priestess of the Life Clan.
The very clan he he was born in had abandoned him because of him being born a cripple.
He never had any idea about his past or anything that occurred in his life.
The earliest memory he even has of his life is being shifted here with some butler of the Life clan along with Rebekah.
Even that butler had long left them, saying about how Omen was nothing but a useless garbage not worth saving.
He didn't mind tho, Omen was used to these kinds of words by people around him.
He was used to all this.
As for the Priestess of The Life Clan?
He knew her name very well.
She was the face of his family.
Every 2 decades, The Life Clan nurtured hundreds of girls in the name of the priestess ceremony.
This process went on until they had come down to a single maiden worthy of being their clan's face.
It was also an edict that no one from the direct family can become the Priestess of the house.
Omen's body would always ache with a strange combination of jealousy and longing.
She had received all the care and love from his family that she wanted.
This wasn't an extreme case of emotion but simply a drifting feeling that passed through him.
In all these years, it was almost like his emotions had been thrown down the drain slowly and steadily.
In fact, if not for the constant attention of Rebekah on him, he would have long drifted to some darkened place which he could never return from.
It was this girl's laugh, her voice that kept him grounded of the fact that he was still alive.
"More good news, I suppose," Omen muttered, his voice hoarse. "Another wave of suffering, and she's out there fixing it. Everyone safe, thanks to her."
Rebekah paused for a moment, holding the cloth between her hands. Her dark eyes met his hidden ones, as if she could see into the cloth covering his hollowed eyes.
She said nothing for a few seconds, simply moving again, wiping the wet fabric along the curve of his hip.
"Why are you still here?" he asked all of. A suddenly. His words were sharp this time, bitter. "Why do you even bother? You know no one cares about me. Not like they care about her—"
Rebekah's lips curved slightly, but it was not a smile that hid discomfort, it was a small, stubborn warmth that refused to be erased. She leaned closer, her long, black hair brushing against his shoulder. "Because someone has to," she said softly. "And because even if no one else does…I care, Omen."
He turned his face slightly, even though he could see nothing but blackness.
His black hair was rough, thick, and ruffled his bony fingers flexed slightly against the mattress.
"You don't have to," the boy said. "You could leave. Go back to Sarah. She's…she's important.
She can do things I never will." The boy said that for a reason.
It was the fact that not only was Rebekah Sarah's elder twin sister but also the fact that she was the original Priestess chosen to be by their Family's side.
If not the fact that she had given it all up to do what was the better action according to her, she would be far happier according to him.
"I could," Rebekah whispered, finally done cleaning his body with the wet cloth, watching the slight rise and fall of his ribs under his thin skin.
"But even nothing deserves care," she said softly.
"Because even someone everyone else calls cursed deserves to be treated like a human being. That's why I'm here." Omen sighed. The sound was weak, almost a whisper against the background hum of the speaker.
Outside, the world moved on. He could imagine the streets alive with people, the noise of business and laughter.
But here, in this small apartment, the world felt different.
Condensed, harsh, and silent except for the voice of the daily updates, except for the small warmth Rebekah brought with her.
He rolled slightly, wincing as the motion tugged at muscles he hadn't used in years.
The room smelled faintly of soap and dust, clean but cold. There was no color, no life besides what Rebekah brought, and yet somehow, it was enough.
What Omen didn't know was that his black and white life was going to come to an end soon because of a mysterious game that had taken hold over the entire world in the last few days.
People called it The Eclipse.
***