The bitter smell of crushed silver-root and boiled willow bark lingered throughout Philia's room, sharp and unpleasant enough to cling to the air. Philia sat on the edge of a low velvet couch near the window, his upper body bare as he stared down at his own hands.
His skin was pale, with faint dark-violet veins showing beneath it and spreading in thin, uneven lines around his ribs. They were subtle enough to miss at first glance, but impossible to ignore once noticed.
Valen moved with precision. His fingers were steady as he unraveled the linen wrapped tightly around Philia's chest, peeling back the final layer to reveal the raw, dark scrape along the side of his chest.
Philia winced softly, a tiny hitch catching in his throat as the air hit the tender skin.
