A person's face tells a story of their life. Every line, wrinkle, freckle, and scar serve as permanent reminders of the history of one’s life. However, there are some stories the bearers would like to forget. That’s where I come in.
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I stood out outside the mountaintop field hospital, tightening my cloak in an attempt to fend off the blizzard’s chill. Snowflakes clung to my dark brown hair as I trudged through the icy wasteland. As soon as I stepped into the tent, I was greeted by the stench of blood and rotting flesh. I walked over to one of the nurses and introduced myself.
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“Lady Brielle, it’s an honor to finally meet you! The patients have been eagerly awaiting your arrival.”
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“The pleasure is all mine,” I replied. “May I see the medical records of all the soldiers you’d like me to work on? It will help me decide what procedure is best for them.”
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“Absolutely!” The nurse disappeared, then returned with a parchment scroll detailing the injuries of each of my patients.
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I thanked her, took the scroll, then promptly got to work. I scanned the document for information on my first soldier.
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Ylva Winterthorn
Age 16
Female
She sustained a traumatic injury when an arrow punctured her face while defending a friend on the battlefield. She has been given medicine to lower the pain, but it has made her delirious.
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Poor girl. She’s too young for this. They’re all too young for this. I thought to myself as I walked past countless rows of wounded soldiers until I reached Ylva’s bedside. “Miss Winterthorn?”
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The girl winced and slowly turned her head to face me. “That’s me. Who are you? Are you an angel?” Although the arrow had been removed from her skull, her face was in a grotesque state. There was a large hole in her left cheek, gushing with blood. I leaned in closer to better assess the damage. She appeared to have extensive tissue damage, as well as several facial fractures. By the look of it, she likely has some damage to the blood vessels as well. Her eyelid was severely swollen, but luckily, her eye appeared to be fully intact.
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“I’m not an angel, just a healer. My name is Brielle, and I’m here to help mend your face. May I touch your wound? I promise to be gentle.”
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She nodded.
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I removed my gloves and gently cupped her wounded cheek in my hand. I reached within myself and summoned my healing magic. Golden sparks flared to life in my hands as I delicately stitched her skin back together.
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Her eyes widened with childlike wonder. “You’re magic!”
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I smiled warmly and nodded. “Indeed, I am.”
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“I’ve always wanted to meet a magical healer!” Ylva exclaimed.
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“Well, it’s always a pleasure to meet a brave warrior such as yourself, Ylva. I read all about your heroic sacrifice on the battlefield.”
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Her expression lit up at my mention of her good deed. “You really think I’m a hero?”
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“Not everyone would take an arrow to the face to save a fellow soldier. Therefore, I think what you did was incredibly valiant,” I said as I worked my magic, meticulously weaving my power into her flesh until her face was whole again. I did my very best to restore her to her former beauty, but my skills and magic are far from perfect. Her face was left with some noticeable
scarring and her cheekbones were now lopsided, but there was little else I could do for her. I reached into my satchel, and pulled out a handheld mirror. I waited with bated breath for her reaction.
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She graciously took the mirror and admired herself. She smiled. “You fixed it! I was scared I’d have a huge hole in my face forever!”
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I let out a relieved sigh. I’ve had patients attack and scream at me when they are unhappy with their results. I don’t judge them too harshly. I know they are acting from a state of hurt caused by their recent trauma. Even so, Ylva's expression of gratitude filled my heart with warmth.
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“Can you fix my shoulder next? I’ve been having this weird pain when I roll it backward.” She sat up, eager to show me her affliction.
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“I’m sorry, I only know how to do faces,” I confessed.
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She shot me a puzzled look. “Only faces? Didn’t you learn anything else?”
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“Mending faces is the hardest skill a healer can ever learn. Repairing a person’s face is not only a science but an art as well. It requires perfect precision and can take a lifetime to learn. It’s such challenging work I’ve never had the time or energy to learn any other skills,” I explained.
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That answer seemed to suffice because she didn’t question me further. Ylva settled back into her bed, disappointment fleeting across her face before she mustered a smile. "Well, I suppose having a fixed face is good enough. Thank you, Lady Brielle."
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I excused myself from Ylva’s bedside and moved on to my next patient. I toiled late into the night. I not only fixed the soldiers’ faces, but I also sought to provide comfort and forge a personal connection with each one. God knows they need all the compassion they can get, in light of their recent trauma. I could never erase the pain of their pasts, but I hope to provide them with the confidence to move forward. It was a meager gift, but it was all I had to give them. Once I treated each and every soldier on my list, I said goodnight to the nurses and exited the tent. I fastened my cloak and braced for the icy, perilous trek to the nearest inn.
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I trudged through the heavy snow for several paces, but before I could get far, two knights wearing heavy iron armor stopped me in my tracks. They both wore the crest of the royal family on their arms, signaling that they were the king’s personal champions. A feeling of uneasiness washed over me. It was bizarre for knights in direct service of the king to be this far from the palace. What business could they have in a place like this? “Halt in the name of the King of Ashenfell!” One of the knights shouted at me.
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I raised my hands to show I intended no harm. I took a deep breath and prepared to be interrogated. “I’m not here to cause any trouble. I’m a healer here to help your kingdom’s wounded soldiers,” I explained calmly, hoping to keep our interaction brief, so I could continue on my journey.
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“We know exactly who you are, you’re Lady Brielle Esterra, The Face Mender,” the other knight said.
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“What do you want with me?” I stepped backward and took up a defensive posture.
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“The King demands your presence at the palace immediately for confidential business. We’ve already spoken to your superiors, and they’ve granted you temporary leave from your work.”
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“I don’t have time for this! I have three more camps to visit this week!” I knew it was foolish to defy the will of the king’s champions, but I couldn’t control myself. I had important work to do here, and I couldn’t just abandon it at the king’s whims.
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“This is not a request, Lady Brielle. This is a command from your king. Any act of defiance will be considered an act of treason against the crown. I wouldn’t resist if I were you.”
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I knew this was a fight I couldn’t win, so I surrendered. “Fine, take me to see the king.”
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The knights ushered me onto the mountain path and into a horse-drawn carriage. As soon as we were seated, the horses took off at a galloping pace. No one spoke a word for the entirety of the journey. The knights shot daggers at me through the narrow eye slits of their helmets, daring me to try to escape. I knew better than to even think about attempting such a feat, so I leaned back and tried to enjoy the ride.
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The jagged mountains disappeared into the horizon as we entered the dark woodland. A sense of dread took hold of me as I questioned what the king wanted from me. This whole ordeal seems over the top for someone as insignificant as me. I tried to reassure myself that everything was going to be fine. The queen probably wants a nose job, that’s all.
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Before I started lending my talents to wounded soldiers, I performed my fair share of cosmetic procedures for snobby nobles. My parents were the lord and lady of an estate that was bankrupted by the war, and we were left penniless. As soon as I discovered my healing magic, my parents enrolled me in an apprenticeship with an expert face mender. Even during wartime, members of the bourgeoisie were still obsessed with their vanity, and they were willing to empty their coffers to preserve it. My parents knew my magic was the golden goose they needed to free themselves from poverty. So, I devoted my entire childhood to beautifying aristocrats and blue-bloods, only to be verbally berated when my work wasn’t up to their standards. No matter how many procedures I performed, my clients were never satisfied. It was an emotionally taxing job that I rarely received thanks for, but at least I was able to keep my family fed. When I reached adulthood, I knew I wanted to do something more meaningful than this, so I enlisted my gifts to aid wounded soldiers. This job doesn’t pay nearly as well, but I would be no better than the selfish nobles I detest if I sat idly, living a life of luxury while the people of our kingdom are suffering.
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The carriage came to an abrupt halt outside the palace gate. The knights escorted me out of the carriage, and I beheld the towering structure through the mist. The palace's architecture is a haunting fusion of twisted imagination and eerie grandeur. An array of sharp-pointed spires pierced the clouds above. An army of stone gargoyles scowled at me as I walked through the palace gates.
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The guards led me down a candlelit corridor to the king’s private throne room. The knights shoved me to the ground, forcing me to kneel before the king. I bowed my head. “Your Majesty,” I said through gritted teeth.
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King Marcellus of Ashenfell arose from his throne and sauntered down the marble steps until we were only inches apart. I felt his warm breath on my face as he spoke. “As you were.”
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I promptly rose to my feet and looked my king in the eye for the first time. He was a slim yet towering man, with long black hair and ghostly white skin. His face was clean-shaven, accentuating the harsh angles of his jaw and cheekbones. His nose was crooked from being broken several times in combat. An icy aura emanated from him, sending a shiver down my spine as he exuded unwavering confidence, a testament to his immense power. He circled me, carefully scrutinizing me with a probing stare. “Lady Brielle Esterra, I’ve been searching for you for a long time. You’re surprisingly hard to track down.”
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I fought to keep my voice calm and even. “I apologize for any inconvenience my busy schedule may have caused you, Your Majesty, How may I serve you?”
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“I’ve heard many tales of your power. Is it true that you possess healing magic that can mend severe injuries?”
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“Not exactly.” After some deliberation, I decided it would be in my best interest to be honest about the limitations of my power.
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A wave of anger washed over him, and he clenched his jaw. “So you mean to tell me that after I went through the trouble of dragging you here, you don’t have healing magic?” His accusatory stare shifted from me to his champions.
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“I do have healing magic, but I can only heal faces, and my work is far from flawless. I can never make them look exactly as they once did.”
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“But you can mend faces,” he said, the faintest note of desperation creeping into his voice.
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I nodded.
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His demeanor instantly softened at my affirmation. “Your power will suffice. Follow me.” He pulled down on a candelabra mounted to the back wall, unveiling a secret passageway. As I took a step inside the pitch-black tunnel, the king whispered in her ear. “If you tell anyone about anything you saw or did here, I’ll make sure you hang for treason. Do I make myself clear?”
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“Yes, your Majesty,” I whispered through trembling lips.
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He let out a hum of satisfaction. “I’m so glad we’ve come to a mutual understanding.”
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We said nothing as he led me through the winding corridors for what felt like miles. This meeting had been far more bizarre and mysterious than I expected it would be. Royals get cosmetic procedures done all the time. There’s no need for all this secrecy. What is he so desperate to hide? I was left wondering until we came across a door at the end of the passage. The king used all of his might to heave open the hefty steel door.
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He ushered me inside the room and then carefully latched the door behind us. This private sanctuary was a stark contrast to the pitch-dark labyrinth. This space was warm and homely, adorned with small mahogany furniture and tall bookshelves filled with well-worn copies of adventure stories and fairy tales. The walls were decorated with colorful tapestries of both real and mythological creatures. A large collection of wooden toys and plush animals were scattered across the patterned rug. A small wooden rocking horse stood proudly in the corner, patiently awaiting its young rider. The entire room was Illuminated in the warm glow of a crackling fireplace, making the area feel safe and inviting.
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In the farthest corner of the room, an elderly woman hunched over a tiny bed. When she moved to greet us, I noticed a large lump under the cover.
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“How is he?” King Marcellus whispered to the woman, just loud enough for me to overhear.
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“I’ve tried everything, but His Highness refuses to eat.”
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The king let out a long, dejected sigh. “I’ll talk to him. You’re excused.”
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The woman curtsied, then shuffled out of the room.
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The king led me to the bed and pulled back the covers to reveal a small child, no older than five, wrapped head-to-toe in bandages. Their entire body was covered except for two small openings revealing the child’s mouth and one of their eyes. “Good morning, your highness. Did you sleep well?” The king said, showing genuine compassion for the first time.
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The child whimpered and hid under the covers once more.
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The king picked up a silver tray containing a feast of bread, cheese, and jam, with only two nibbles taken out of it. “You’ve barely touched your breakfast. Brave little princes must eat to build up their strength,” he gently chided.
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“I can’t, Papa! Everything hurts!” The little prince sobbed, clutching his bandaged face.
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The king squeezed the little boy’s hands. “I know it hurts, darling, but please don’t cry. Tears will only make the pain worse. I need you to be brave for me, okay.”
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The child hugged a stuffed fox toy and took several deep breaths to calm himself.
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“Don’t fear, little one. Lady Brielle is here to make your face as good as new.”
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“Um, actually I won’t know if I can fully repair his face until I see the damage for myself, your Majesty,” I said in a gentle voice, trying to keep expectations realistic.
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The young prince began trembling as he fought back another round of sobs. “Is my face going to be stuck like this forever?”
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King Marcellus shot me a threatening look, then returned his attention to his son. “Of course not; Lady Brielle is going to make sure you’re as healthy and handsome as ever. You have nothing to fear. I’ll be watching over you the whole time.”
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The little boy nodded, and the king moved a wooden stool beside the prince’s bedside and motioned for me to sit. I did as I was told, and seated myself beside the child, and removed my gloves.
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Then, King Marcellus handed me a pocket-sized painting of his son before the injury. “I don’t care what it takes; I want his appearance as close to the portrait as possible.”
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I carefully studied the painting. He was an adorable child with rosy cheeks and a mile-wide smile. He shared a lot of physical similarities with his father. They both had the same starkly pale skin and ebony hair, but the boy had an air of innocence about him that his father lacked. It was evident the young prince had not yet been hardened by the horrors of war.
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The king loomed over me as I tentatively reached for the child’s bandages.
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“With all due respect, Your Majesty, I can’t do my best work while you’re hovering like that. You’re being incredibly distracting.”
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“It is awfully bold of you to make demands of your king, Lady Brielle,” King Marcellus snarled, his voice dripping with venom.
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I straightened my posture and remained resolute in my request. He didn’t intimidate me anymore. I now knew he wouldn’t dare harm me. His son was in desperate need of reprieve, and Face Menders are extremely hard to come by. The king could threaten me all he wanted, but he knew I was a precious resource he couldn’t bear to waste. “If you want the job done correctly, you must give me space to work my magic.
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The king grunted, marched over to one of the bookshelves, and pretended to read a children’s book about unicorns, but I could tell he was scrutinizing my every move.
I fought to keep my hands from trembling as I gently unwrapped the boy’s face and discarded the blood-soaked bandages. With the bandages removed, I beheld the profound tragedy that had become of this child’s face. His skin was severely burned, heavily disfiguring his soft, delicate features. His left eye was clouded over with traumatic cataracts, leaving it permanently blinded. The flesh around his mouth was marred by deep, jagged wounds, causing him agony every time he opened it.
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I felt a rush of panic claw at my heart. I was far out of my depth with this job. Even on the most gruesome of battlefields, I rarely see patients with this level of disfigurement, and I’ve never mended the face of someone so young before. Not to mention that he was a prince, and not just any prince either; this broken child was most likely the heir to the throne of Ashenfell. As far as the rest of the kingdom knew, King Marcellus had no children. I’d believed the same until today. The existence of this boy was the best-kept secret in all of Ashenfell. It made sense that the king would try to keep the existence of an heir a secret during a time of such political upheaval. The future of my kingdom rested in the tiny hands of the boy in front of me. I was underqualified to mend the face of someone so significant.
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The small prince must have noticed my trepidation because he said, “It’s really bad, isn’t it? I know I must look very ugly because Papa won’t let me look in the mirror.”
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I looked into the prince's innocent eyes, filled with fear and hope, and mustered a warm smile. "You're not ugly, my prince. You're just a little hurt right now. But I promise you, I will do everything in my power to help you get better. Alright?”
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The little boy nodded, and I pressed my hands to his wounded cheeks. Before I could summon my magic, he flinched away from my grasp, writhing in pain.
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“I know it hurts, Your Highness, but I need you to keep your head still.”
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The prince lowered his head in shame. “I’m so sorry, Your Grace. I won’t do it again.”
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“The honorifics aren’t necessary. You can just call me Brielle like my friends do.”
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The faintest hint of a smile crossed his lips. “Okay! You can call me Everett!”
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“Is that your name?”
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He nodded.
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I curtsied for him. “It’s an honor to meet you, Everett.” I gently stroked the fur of his toy fox, noticing for the first time that it was wearing a tiny, handmade, paper crown. “Your fox is very cute. I love his little crown. Does he have a name?”
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“Prince Fredrick.”
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“Your fox is a prince too?”
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He nodded. “He’s the crown prince of the fox kingdom.”
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“Fascinating! Tell me more,” I said, summoning my magic and beginning the healing process. This was a trick I often used on skittish patients, convincing someone to talk about their passions can help distract them from the pain.
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The task of mending Prince Everett’s face proved to be the most difficult assignment I’d ever undertaken. I toiled for several hours before I saw even the slightest improvement in his mangled features. Everett didn’t seem to mind the wait. He eagerly told me the names of all of his toys and the elaborate backstories he’d crafted for each of them as I worked. As the rejuvenating power of my healing magic flowed through my fingertips, the harsh burns began to fade into pink, bumpy scars. It was a slow and delicate process, but over time, he slowly began to resemble the happy, healthy boy in the portrait.
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I labored tirelessly for over twenty-four hours until there was nothing left I could do to improve his appearance. Although his face bore permanent scars, my heart swelled with pride over how close I’d come to restoring his original features.
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I gave him a warm smile as I added the finishing touches. “We’re all done now. You’ve been such a brave boy. Let me know how it feels.”
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Prince Everett cautiously brushed his fingertips over his scarred cheeks. “It doesn’t hurt anymore!” He exclaimed. “Thank you, Brielle.”
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“You’re very welcome, Everett. It was a pleasure to heal you. Are you ready to show your father the results?”
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He nodded enthusiastically.
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I rose from my stool and approached the king, who stood in the furthest corner of the room, staring blankly at a tapestry of a fox. Just as he had promised, King Marcellous hadn’t left the room for even a moment during his son’s procedure.
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I took a deep breath and prayed he wouldn’t have me executed for being unable to completely restore his son’s features to their former beauty. “The prince’s facial reconstruction is complete. I’ve healed him to the best of my abilities. He will be able to eat, speak, and breathe without any pain. However, there’s still some prominent scarring, and the sight in his left eye is unsalvageable. I’m sorry I can’t do more.
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He waved his hand dismissively. “You’ve done quite enough, Lady Brielle. All that matters is that Everett is healthy and happy. I would never forgive myself if he had to live the rest of his life in pain.”
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“There’s no need to blame yourself, Your Majesty. The pain is gone now, and I’m sure his injuries weren’t your fault. Accidents happen.”
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King Marcellus clenched his fists. “This was no accident.”
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I couldn’t suppress a gasp as I glanced back at Prince Everett, who was blissfully playing with his fox without a care in the world. “Someone did this on purpose? Who could be so cruel?”
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“An assassin with fire magic broke into the palace to kill me, but he found Everett first. I should be the one suffering right now, not Everett. I'm far from a saint, Lady Brielle, but that precious little boy is as innocent as a lamb. He doesn’t deserve this.”
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The tragedy that had befallen the darling prince rendered me speechless. I couldn’t fathom how anyone could harm such a sweet little boy, but war has the power to bring out the worst in humanity. “I’m so sorry, Your Majesty; no child deserves to suffer.”
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The king let out a mournful sigh. “No matter, it’s in the past now. All we can do is try to move forward.”
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I gave an understanding nod, dropping the topic. “Your son is excited to show you his new face whenever you're ready, Your Majesty.”
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The king squeezed his eyes shut, let out a wistful sigh, then pasted on the widest smile he could muster before returning to his son’s bedside. King Marcellus approached his son, who was building a pillow fort for his stuffed animals. The king’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as he knelt beside Prince Everett, his voice filled with tenderness. “I haven’t seen you play in ages. You must be feeling much better.”
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The young prince nodded enthusiastically and pulled his father into a tight hug. “Brielle made me all better! I don’t hurt anymore! How do I look, Papa?”
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The king placed a trembling hand on his son’s cheek. “You're as handsome as ever, my brave little prince."
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