—Beep! Beep! Beep!
"—rian! Adrian! Stay with us! You need to calm down! Please... calm down!"
The surgeons kept calling for me nearby, yet they sounded distant. Instead, a breaking feminine voice that didn't belong to anyone present in the room was louder—chanting, full of spite.
""Diese verfluchte Farbe deiner Haare ist genau wie er!" " I repeated those chants after her in a low voice.
"What's—that? What—are you—saying?" The surgeons sounded even more distant, their voice fading.
I couldn't hear them properly. I couldn't hear you properly. This voice wouldn't let me, growing louder and louder with each passing second. My head started ringing. I couldn't listen to it anymore. Someone... someone, please...
"Sniff!" That voice—she wasn't actually angry at me, but her own self and utterly depressed.
"Alistair..." Another voice interrupted.
It was the sweet whisper of a young woman, overflowing with emotions.
I think it was my first time hearing it, but I just knew it belonged to Aurelia. My heart felt warm. I heard no other voice after that and drifted into a deep slumber not long after.
When I regained consciousness, my eyes felt heavy, covered under layers of sterile padding and a plastic protective shield.
"—Sniff!"
If I remember correctly, that sound was familiar. But it wasn't ringing in my head like earlier. I felt a presence sitting right beside my bed.
"Ma'am, visiting hours are over. You can't stay any longer than this," a woman instructed her in a professional tone.
Soft footsteps drifted away. I wanted to stop her. I tried to move, but failed—my body was still numb, as if I hadn't been unconscious for very long.
I spent the next half an hour listening to footsteps while desperately trying to move. Finally, my fingers twitched. The nurse must have noticed; her footsteps became hurried. Moments later, more footsteps approached my bed.
"Adrian, how are you feeling? Everything okay?" The surgeons asked, their voices filled with a mixture of tension and relief.
"Earlier, you told me the bandages could be removed the morning after the surgery. Can we?" Instead of answering, I questioned back.
"Seeing how you're back to yourself, you should be fine. As for removing the bandages—sure," the surgeon replied with a quiet sigh of relief.
"First of all, I want to see myself. Could you please bring me a mirror?" It wasn't a demand, but a quiet request.
After someone brought a mirror over, the surgeon began unwrapping the bandages slowly.
When I opened my eyes, the incoming light stung immediately. Everything was a blurry smear. But as my new eyes adjusted, shapes began to resolve into recognizable forms.
A sharp, angular structure... Framed by falling strands over the forehead, two pools of light stared back at me. At the center of it all was a narrow bridge and high cheekbones, and at the bottom, two parallel ridges with a shallow dip in the center contrasting against pale cheeks...
" Beautiful," I muttered under my breath.
The moment I raised my hand to reach him, he raised his, too. Our fingertips met. It felt cold—entirely different from the warmth of human skin.
Wait, wait, wait...
Is this a mirror?
And... is this 'Me'?