You stir in the bed you find yourself in, starting to come to slowly but surely. As the darkness peels back from the corners of your vision, the sunlight coming through the small window on the wall next to you is enough light for your eyes to piece together the small room. A table sits against one of the walls a couple bottles of fluid on it with labels you can't quite read. A small cabinet is by your bedside, clean bandages and small green bottles resting on the top of it. Bags of fluid hang from a metal stand next to the cabinet. On the opposite wall, another larger cabinet stands. Next to it, a figure in white robes sits on a chair. Judging from its size and stature, it looks like a woman, but your vision's still too blurry to really tell. As you shift in your bed to get a better look, the figure raises her hooded head and stands.
"Awake at last," she murmurs, taking a step towards you. "I was beginning to think I'd have to wake you myself."
She stops at your bedside and leans over you, her facial features starting to take form as your eyes get used to the environment. Even without your sight adjusted, you notice her skin is almost deathly pale. Her especially light blonde hair paired with her ivory-colored robes, clean save for some red patterns sewn into them, doesn't do anything to help her snow-white complexion. As soon as your eyes adjust properly, the strange pale woman standing over you comes into focus. She would've appeared completely devoid of expression, were it not for the dark bags under her brown eyes--the only splashes of color on her otherwise pallid guise--which imparted upon her an air of exhaustion and little else.
"Hello," she says, straightening herself up a little, "Are you feeling alright? My name is Ophelia. Oh-feel-ii-uh." She drags out the phonetics of her name. "Can you understand me?"
You nod weakly, and a dull headache starts to demand your attention. You try to sit up in your bed, but find it difficult. The room is spinning a bit. It takes several tries before you manage it. When you finally rise, your limbs feel stiff and tired. Your body aches. You lean heavily against the headboard of the bed.
Ophelia watches you carefully. "Just rest for now. As 'miraculous' as holy healing is, it sure takes its time." She rounds the foot of your bed, heading to the table on the other side of the room. "You're lucky, you know. You were totally delirious when we found you."
"We?" you croak out.
Ophelia pauses, turning back to face you. "Yes. We. Marcus and I."
Ophelia nods towards the wall your bed sits at. You can't help but be a bit startled when you notice the man there, not knowing when he may have come in or if he had been there all along. The man--who must be Marcus--leans back against the wall with his arms crossed and head down, looking like he's been there all night. His hair is short and wavy, falling over his eyes as he periodically nods off. As if his body language didn't give it away, he too looks excessively tired. But it seems more like a body's natural need for sleep than Ophelia's slightly haggard appearance; the dark circles under her eyes seemed to be burned into her countenance rather than something easily alleviated by a good night's rest.
"He's my partner," she explains, turning her attention back to the table. "Hired muscle. But that doesn't matter right now. What's your name?"
"${Name}," you reply, your voice still coming out in hoarse croaks that rattle your throat. You cough softly.
She looks up from the table, her expression still unchanged. "At least you can remember it. Marcus?" she says, shifting her emotionless gaze to his spot on the wall. The man's head snaps up, his fatigue seeming to dissolve immediately as he stands to attention.
"Yes, Miss Ophelia?" He replies.
She points at the door to the room. "Go get our patient some water."
Marcus gives a short nod and heads out of the room. After he's left, Ophelia turns from the table and stands over your bedside. She murmurs a prayer, free of any of the zeal or fervor of some holy servants while halfheartedly doing the necessary gestures for the ritual she's clearly performed time and time again. She gives a dispirited sigh as you feel the dull pain in your head subside and the feeling return to your legs. She turns back to the table and continues doing whatever it was she was doing. Perhaps she wasn't even doing anything and was simply trying to look occupied. Regardless, it was becoming fairly clear that she wasn't exactly enthusiastic about her duties.
The door swings open. "Ah, Miss Ophelia. I have the water," Marcus says, standing in the doorway holding a full waterskin.
Ophelia doesn't say anything, she doesn't even look up. She simply points at the bedside table. Marcus nods and walks over to the bedside. He nods at you as he places the waterskin on the table. "Hello, there," he says with a friendly smile. He pats the waterskin. "I suppose you can just drink it as you need."
You murmur your thanks to Marcus as you roll over and take the waterskin from the side of the bed. It's a bit heavy, but you hold it up to your lips and get a couple good gulps down. Enough to return the moisture to your throat and restore your voice. "Thank you," you say, glad to feel your voice smoothed out again.
Marcus shakes his head, waving his hand dismissively. "Oh, no. Miss Ophelia's the only one to thank here."
Ophelia gives a short glance in Marcus' direction, then drops it. You take another sip from the waterskin as Marcus returns to his spot on the wall.
"So what happened?" he asks.
You tell him everything, starting with what you clearly remembered while you were still well slowly becoming a half-coherent jumble of thoughts, memories, and what were possibly fever-induced hallucinations, ending just before the arrival of the two of them finding you completely delirious. As you talk, Marcus keeps his eyes on you, listening intently until you finish your retelling of the whirlwind of consciousness. When you're done, he nods thoughtfully.
"That's a lot to swallow all at once," he comments. "Hear that Ophelia? Quite the story."
Ophelia grunts. She's still not looking up from her work, though you can see her shoulders tense a little.
"Don't mind her," Marcus says, turning back to you, "We'll let you rest up for now. You've been through quite the ordeal. But we can't leave you out there alone. Not after that. Besides, you're in good hands." He gives a nod towards Ophelia, who finally looks up from the table.
"Flattering," she mumbles. The cleric woman turns her gaze to you. "Move your legs. You should be able to."
You do as she tells you and move your legs out from under the blanket. She gestures for you to swing them over the side of the bed, and you do. The aches and stiffness in your body are gone, probably thanks to her healing. She nods towards the floor and you gingerly slide off the bed, and though a little wobbly, you find your footing and stand.
"Hm," Ophelia grunts, "Well, that's good, I guess. But you'll need to remain here with us. You're still not completely healed."
"But I feel fine," you say, impulsively checking your body for any signs of injury.
"Stress, ${Name}," Ophelia says with a irritated sigh, "Stress healing. Not to mention I have to clear your health to make sure you actually are fine."
You frown at her and she shrugs in response. You don't really know what to think about this. It sounds like you might be stuck here for a bit.
"Hey, don't look so down," Marcus says, "It's not so bad, getting to relax and blow off steam for a couple days. You've got our company." He gives a smile and nods to Ophelia, who only returns an unamused stare. "Besides, the only real issue is that Miss Ophelia's going to have to check up on you every day. It's thorough, sure. But not too bad."
"If you're that enthusiastic about it, Marcus," Ophelia grumbles, "Why don't you do it? You know some medicine. You've done it before. You know how."
Marcus laughs awkwardly. "I...suppose I have. Well," he looks back to you, "Either of us can help you out here. Or both of us."