Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sweet memory of Asra’s lips on mine play across my dreams; accompanied by the pleasant memory of his fingers caressing my breasts, and finding their way to my very core. Our last dance under the moon had been three days before he left. Three days before our fight. 

I wake up before the dream drives me into a crescendo. What a miserable shape I’ll be in for my first day working at the clinic. Dr. Julian Devorak had been in need of an apprentice. And I was an apprentice with no master anymore. 

Perhaps we are just what each other needs. 

I quickly dress, and make my way out the door. I make sure the protective spell is in place, and pause. Asra will return soon. I’m sure of it. He wouldn’t just leave forever…

No. Even if he does, it doesn’t matter. Vesuvia is our home. My home. If he won’t stay to help, then forget him. I will do everything I can. 

With renewed energy, I make my way to the doctor’s clinic. While I am by no means, a physician, I am one of the most powerful magicians in the land. I sometimes wonder, if it came down to me and Asra, who would be the stronger. All the same, I offered my assistance. 

Maybe someday, we will find out. 

As I make my way through the marketplace, I consider that I am already late, and that delicious smelling pumpkin bread is calling my name. Temptation be my weakness. Dr. Devorak will just have to

scold me for tardiness. I don’t quite care. 

“If it isn’t Miss Celia,” the shopkeep teases as I sheepishly approach him. He beams at me. “What could she possibly want today?”

“Oh, don’t tease,” I whine. “It smells divine! I’ll take two—No, three.”

“Bringing an extra to apologize to Asra for not bringing him along?” He asks, and I frown as I look away. “…Celia?”

“Asra left. Yesterday.”

“He’ll be back, though, won’t he?”

I bite my lip. “I don’t know.”

“I’m so sorry.” He pauses, then tucks a fourth piece of bread into the basket as he hands it to me. “Have one on the house.”

“You don’t need to.”

“Nonsense, Celia. You’re one of my most loyal customers. I take care of my people.”

“Thank you,” I say with a soft laugh. “I start work with Dr. Devorak today, so I thought I’d give him one as a way to make up for being late.”

“Good plan.” He tells me as I pay. I take my basket and leave, taking one of the pieces of bread and munching on it. 

With that, I make my way to the clinic. It’s on a not so great side of the city. Or rather, it was once a nice place, but ever since the plague…

I cling to my basket as I walk. I can feel the shift in the air. From clean and pure, to diseased. Heavy. People only come here when they need to, and they have to be desperate. 

The streets are dirtied with trash, and ailing people who are too sick to even move anymore. Some have blankets thrown over them, but I pause on my journey to wave away flies collecting on a thin man with sunken eyes. He isn’t long for this world, I can tell. 

My heart aches and my stomach twists. Not even the smell of the bread is enough to maintain any kind of appetite; what of it that isn’t overpowered by the stench of disease that clings to everything around me. It’s so much worse, the scope of this dreadful disease, when faced with the victims firsthand. 

How could Asra just… Run from this? These people, this city needs our help. 

The clinic is, at least, easy to locate. Dr. Devorak has a single lantern posted above the door, where a large black bird has decided to roost. Beside the door is a large sign reading Dr. Julian Devorak’s Clinic, with the letters all in red. 

I approach, and open the door. This early in the morning, it is not quite as busy as I would expect. The main entryway was quiet, empty save for a lantern and a few chairs. A waiting area, I assume. 
I navigate my way to a small hallway, and what appears to be an examination room. On the table lays a lanky looking individual, his limbs draping over the table. I would’ve assume he was a patient, were it not for the plague doctor mask laying on his chest. 

“Doctor Devo—Oh!” I shout as he jumps up suddenly. I take a step back, eyes wide. Then relax as he does, looking quite frazzled. 

As if he had just woken. 

“Sorry, the clinic isn’t ah… Wait. Waitaminute. You’re not infected.” He pauses as he gets up, then slaps his forehead. “Wait. Don’t tell me. Cessily? Cece! …Cinder?”

“Celia.” I frown as I set my basket on a nearby table. “Celia Morgatti.”

“Celia! Celia, right. I’m so sorry,” he tells me with a sheepish smile. One look at him tells me he is absolutely haggard; run ragged by the rising demands of a city of dying. 

“It’s certainly understandable,” I tell him with a relaxed smile. “You’re quite busy. On my way here, I couldn’t help noticing…”

“Yes.” He frowns. “Several doctors, including myself, are doing what we can but it just isn’t enough.”

“And that, Dr. Devorak, is why I’m here. To help.”

“I should consider myself so lucky,” he remarks. I take one of the buns of pumpkin bread from my basket and hold it out to him. 

“Yes. You should.”

Chapter Text

Dr. Devorak had set me up in a small corner in the back with some samples, along with stacks upon stacks of notes he, and several other local physicians, had written up on this plague. Nothing revolutionary or groundbreaking on the surface; it seems to evolve with every treatment. Which, unfortunately, leads to a veritable list of symptoms. Or possible symptoms. 

I twirl a stray strand of hair around my finger and tug as I read over the list of symptoms again. Red sclera, fever, weakness. Sweating is possible, coughing. Some people vomit, some sneeze, some report chills and body aches. 

“Ilyushka!” A voice sings out, making me look up. Curious, I get to my feet and wander out of my little… Cubby.

 
“Pasha,” Dr. Devorak sighs. As I approach, I can see a young woman looking up at him, holding a covered basket. She looks notably like Julian, but rounder. Softer. 

That look in her eyes though? That’s a scary look. And the way her mouth scrunches to the side! I almost feel bad for the doctor. 

“I know you’re busy, but you can’t just not eat,” she huffs as she shoves the basket at him. He takes it and for a moment, he looks angry. Then chastised. And finally, he gives her a sheepish smile. 

“Thank you, Pasha,” he says, as he turns to set the basket down on a table. “I’ll eat soon, I promise.”

“I’m not leaving until you do!”

“You’ll get sick, Pasha.”

“Then I guess you better eat, huh?”

I chuckle, then cover my mouth with my hand. They both look at me and I shyly wave. The girl—Pasha—stares, then looks back to her brother. 

“And who is this?”

“Before you start getting any ideas,” he says, quickly. “This is my new apprentice. Celia Morgatti.”

“You remembered this time,” I tease as I approach. I hold my hand out and she takes it with a smile. 

“I’m his sister, Portia,” she says. “Sorry you have to put up with him.”

“For the most part, he has me in the back,” I remark. She shoots him a glare. “No, no! I quite like it. I’m trying to help him figure out the plague, after all, and no one bothers me back there.”

“But, I will admit, I…” Dr. Devorak pauses. “Might have forgotten you were here.”

“Oh, well, now it’s rude.”

“I am so sorry,” he says, holding his hands up. I laugh.

 
“It’s alright! Really… I like the quiet.” 

“That doesn’t excuse completely forgetting you were back there.” He pauses. “And since Pasha was so kind to bring me lunch, I could send you with her to go get some of your own?”

“I’m fine, really. I don’t have much of an appetite.” The idea of walking through the street and seeing all those faces staring at me again makes my stomach clench. 

“Are you sure?” Dr. Devorak asks. I nod. 

“I ended up eating all that pumpkin bread this morning,” I comment with a sheepish grin. He chuckles. 

“Well, it did smell delicious.” At that, he turns to his sister, sighs, then moves to sit at his desk with his basket of lunch. He eyes her as he opens it, not even looking down as he reaches in. Out comes a bowl of noodles with red flakes and some kind of nut mixed in, with some vegetables and a thin, brown sauce. 

Asra tends to cook with a lot of heat in terms of spice, but this just smells spicy even from where I’m standing. Without a word, I grab a glass from his desk and take it to fill it up with water. As my back is turned, a few moments later I hear—

“Shit! Pasha!” I turn to look, and not only is his face red, he’s sweating. His fork is in the bowl and he’s waving his mouth while his sister laughs. I quickly bring over the water. 
As soon as it is in his hands, half of it is gone. He gulps it down and tilts his head back over the chair, prompting me to chuckle.

“Thank you, Celia,” he gasps. I blush at that and tug slightly on my hair. “That was… Were you trying to kill me?”

“No, but maybe now you’ll think twice about forgetting to eat,” she teases. “Miss Morgatti? I hate to ask this of you, but could you please keep an eye on my brother?”

“Of course.” I smile. “It seems he certainly isn’t going to take care of himself, after all.”
“Are you two hanging up on me?”

“Well,” I pause. “It would appear so. Naturally, of course, Dr. Devorak, as men such as yourself can not be trusted to care for themselves.”

There is a moment of silence, as the weight of what I said hits the room. Then, Portia begins to laugh. She doubles over, as Dr. Devorak’s face becomes as red as his hair. 

Sheepishly, he mutters as he sinks down in his chair, “you can just call me Julian.”

❧
Day one done, but it feels like just the beginning of something else. Something I’m doing without Asra… That part still stings. 
I shake my head as I gather my things, stopping when I hear the bell ring. Dr. Devorak said we were closing up. Who would come at this hour? I peek back into the main room to see the doctor talking to a thin individual, flanked by a couple of guards. 

“You are requested at the palace by the Count.” The words make my stomach twist. That can’t be good. “Your appearance is not negotiable. You may bring with you your belongings for an extended stay, and any assistants you may have.”

Well. Shit. That means me. 

Julian coughs. “Miss Morgatti! Could you come out here, please?”

I shakily make my way over. I feel cold. Nervous. My stomach is twisting itself into a knotted mess. 

“Miss Morgatti, could you, ah, please pack up the supplies and a few personal things of your own?” He looks at me, almost sheepishly. “It seems the Count wants us at the palace.”

“Yes, sir.”

On the inside, I want to scream. We are doing more good here, aren’t we? Dealing with the sick masses, and trying to stem the tide of death. I don’t really want us to leave the clinic. 

But, it isn’t my call. So without a further word, I turn to pack up the clinic. I’ll have to swing by the shop…