Bri woke up feeling like something had been sitting on her chest all night. Her heart pounded against her ribcage, head throbbing alongside it in a way she hadn’t felt since the day she stole one of mum’s drinks without realising it was alcoholic. Groaning, shef pushed herself upright and reached for the glass of water dad always left on her bedside, blinking when her hand closed around nothing. Huh – he must have been called to work and forgot. Blearily, she swung her legs off the bed, wincing as her feet touched something sharp and cold, the shock snapping her out of her groggy daze. 

Had she knocked the glass over in her sleep? Damn it. Her hands shook slightly as she pulled a couple of shards from the sole of her feet, dizzy with the sight of the blood welling there. Did she have anything to wrap this with? Glancing around the room, she sighed as she realised she’d have to hobble her way downstairs to get the bandages. 

Her feet stung as she made her way down the hall, the carpet catching and sticking to the sticky blood from time to time just to mock her further. Gods, why did glass cuts sting so much? Brienne was starting to regret throwing out her old slippers. A loose thread caught her foot and she swore as it tugged at the skin, shooting pain through the sole of her foot just as a painting fell from the wall and smashed. Great. This was how her day was going to go, was it?

Gingerly avoiding the new shards of glass, she hastened her way downstairs to the kitchen where her mother was cooking eggs for breakfast. The smell of the gently spiced food made her mouth water, tempting her almost to just ignore her feet and get some food, but she sighed and sat at the table instead; inspecting her now-fluffy cuts with another wince. “Hey mum, do we have any disinfectant?”

“Of course, why do you–” She paused as she turned to look, eyes wide as they trailed over the bloody footprints on the tile to Brienne. “What happened to you?”

“Knocked over my water in my sleep,” she sighed, picking at a few bits of fluff stuck to her feet, “Didn’t notice until I stepped on it. Oh, and uh… one of dad’s paintings fell down. Sorry.”

“Did you clean up the glass?” she wondered, rummaging through a cupboard until she found the first aid. Bri’s chest squeezed, her brow pinching.

“I’m bleeding, injured, and you’re worried about the mess?”

“It’s dangerous to leave glass and blood sitting everywhere, you know this.” Mum tutted, like it was the most obvious thing in the world that she should have cleaned up before coming for help. “This is why you need footwraps. Keep everything safe indoors.”

“You’re kidding right?” Brienne didn’t know why she was so annoyed by this. Mum was always fretting about the wrong thing; it was just how she was. What mattered was that she was coming to help clean her up and wrap up her feet, so why did her heart pick up again the moment she saw the exasperated look in mum’s eyes? “What’s the worst that’ll happen if I leave it to stop myself getting infected cuts?”

“What if I had stepped on it too?”

“Uh, you won’t, because I told you about it,” Bri hissed, and mum’s eyes snapped up to look at her.

“Have you been taking your medicines?” 

The pounding in her chest dropped to the pit of her stomach, “What?”

Mum nodded as if that confirmed her suspicions, “You are always so angry without it.”

“So I’m only worth talking to when I’m doped up, is that it?”

“You know that isn’t what I say, Brienne.”

“Well newsflash mum, they’re anxiety meds and estrogen, they don’t suddenly change who I am as a person, sorry to disappoint you.”

“Brienne-”

“Ow!” As if the sting of antiseptic on her feet was enough to snap whatever anger was sitting in her chest, Brienne yelled her protest – and the smell of burning immediately filled the room. Mum jumped up immediately, swearing as she batted out the fire that had grown on the stove, muttering something about distractions as Bri quietly made her way out, ears screaming with the shock of it all.

This, she thought as she passed the smashed picture frame, vowing to deal with it later, this was why she so rarely left her bedroom. She couldn’t stand the fussing and moaning, and it felt like whatever happened there was always some way she could mess it up. Biting back tears, she knelt to sweep up the shattered glass by her bedside, glad at least that it was only water and would dry on its own. At least there was something of her mess she didn’t have to clean up by herself.

She opted to skip breakfast, finishing the wrapping mum had started and instead turning to her books for some kind of distraction. It had been a couple of weeks since dad had time to teach her anything, but he trusted her to research and learn on her own – if he didn’t she’d probably be back in school, and that was the last thing she wanted. She’d had enough of being followed home and beaten up for a lifetime, thanks.

Face buried in a physics book reading about Éla (it seemed apt to know about after the day she’d had yesterday), she barely noticed the time pass or her stomach gurgle. She knew, in theory, that Éla was considered to be the special kind of ‘electricity’ that every living thing held in their body, and that something in the air after the Cataclysm amplified that in certain people and made them volatile; gave them abilities beyond what people could usually have. She wondered, then, if that meant anyone could use Éla to some extent, or if it was mostly dormant unless it was at Magi levels. 

The book she was reading seemed to think the latter. It went on to describe the alchemical wards that had been devised and utilised in churches and government buildings, and mental hospitals for those afflicted with Icarus Syndrome: the result of Éla overexposure. They were made to dampen the connection between the Magi’s Éla and that of the atmosphere, to ensure they can’t use it intentionally or otherwise. What was to stop them creating a potion based on the same formula, she wondered? If that was all there is to it, why not-

“Bri?” Dad’s voice cut into her ruminations, the book in her hands snapping shut as she started out of her thoughtful trance. How long had she been sitting here that dad was back from work? “Sorry to interrupt. Naomi told me what happened – how are you feeling, pet?”

“Fine,” she muttered. Why did he have to bring that up? She would rather not think about it.

“Yesterday was tough, hm?” he sighed, sitting on the floor beside her and glancing over her notes with a knowing eye, “It’s normal for anger as a defense to things like that.”

“But I need to apologise to mum, yeah I  know.”

Dad’s expression only grew more concerned. Though she still had her nose firmly in her book she wasn’t taking in the words anymore, just staring at the pictures and trying not to notice how intensely dad’s eyes were boring into her. It wasn’t unusual for dad to try and psychoanalyse her and usually it was fine, but she didn’t much feel like talking today. Bad enough that she’d argued with mum, the last thing she wanted was to fight with dad too. 

“There’s two reasons,” he said abruptly, tapping her hurriedly-scrawled notes about anti-Éla potions. “Firstly, it would be toxic for human consumption. Secondly, there are rigorous tests that would need to be done – the balance is hard to achieve and the wrong dosages would cut off someone’s natural Éla entirely.”

Brienne frowned, glad for the distraction at least, “Then why not run those tests?”

“We try, but– if the Éla in an animal is already balanced we have no real way of knowing what will be effective. And there aren’t exactly volunteers lining up in droves to be tested on.”

That made sense, she supposed. It sounded like they were at least trying, so that was something. It just didn’t make sense. There was so much research done on Éla in general but the books she had on Magi themselves barely said anything at all. It was like they stopped existing once they were carted away to psych; it just… didn’t seem fair. 

“You know,” he continued, “We’re pretty sure we don’t know about a huge number of Magi. We hear about incidents but by the time anyone gets there we can’t find them – we think maybe they’re forming underground groups, living in secret.”

That was comforting, she supposed. Knowing it wasn’t always their fate to be locked up for the rest of their life, but… “They shouldn’t have to do that.”

“No, they shouldn’t.” Bri looked at him, then, startled by something dark in his voice. His gaze was on the ground, staring through her papers like he was waiting for something. Did he know something about them that she didn’t? Well. Besides everything. 

“What is it like?” she wondered quietly, “Inside the hospital? Are they happy there, at least?”

“Some of them are,” he sighed. “But it’s the best thing for them. All of them.”

“Then why tell me about the underground groups?”

Dad stayed silent for a long moment, eventually patting her gently on the leg and pushing to his feet. “You should eat something. Don’t worry about the picture frame, I’ve cleaned it up for you.”

Without another word he walked out, leaving Bri alone with somehow more confusion than she started with.