7. Episode The Peacock and the Crow
The seizure had arrived just in the time for the physician to distribute a sedative to cease her violent trashing. Her fever had reached a peak that even threatened the very foundation of her immunity. Her tangled and matted black hair remained plastered to the duvet as her body ceased its seemingly impassible flailing. The white linens upon which she laid upon in her haphazardly supine disposition were drenched with the liquid salt expelled by her feverish body. Not only did her perspiration exude the minute tragedies of her life, but they seemed to obliterate the placid stoicism which she frantically clung to during her conscious moments. She was more vulnerable now than ever, particularly with her mind and soul meandering between the world of the living and its effervescent moments of human sorrows and joys to the simple, silent privileges of peace and tranquility that the Cities of Dust, or what the Pani labeled “purgatory” beheld. She had crossed that threshold, but death remained abashed and elusive. She sought it, but it refused to acknowledge her efforts. Death was like a man; taking whomever it wanted without discrimination and leaving behind the cries of the living who sought to bargain with it for the souls of the claimed. It was ironic that her life was momentarily preserved in the chance of a passing executioner – Crow. Or was it chance?
The physician was mild-mannered and rather gentle in his approach to the Pani woman; his countenance revealed a man who had a composed demeanor and a smooth, kindly face that revealed a speckling of blackheads across his nose and cheeks which resembled sprinkled pepper. The salt and pepper coloring of his could make one gauge he up in his age and his manner suggested that he might’ve been a doting, loving father or even a grandfather. The serums always kept one guessing as it rendered cellular aging obsolete. However, a pair of eyes suggested what type of person a human being usually was. She learned from an early age how a simple glance can reduce her to tears. Now, as Crow had assumed, she would fight tooth and nail to preserve her freedom… but her life? Had she not attempted to end it prior at the cliffs before the arrival of the “black bird”?
The physician, whom Yurei would have determined was mild-mannered and kind, inspected her with a detached and clinical countenance: he checked her pulse, opened her eyes as he had a candle produced before her then to discern pupil response. He performed a cursory examination before rising from the side of the bed and a slender, fair-haired kajira adjusted the coverlet and tucked her like a mother to child. The dreams had subsided as the sedative quelled the vexatious visions and silencing the noisy ghosts of a sordid past which was both troublesome and unchangeable.
“I had hoped she was well enough, though it seems she isn’t. But… the worst is over. A seizure can occur at times if a fever is high enough.” He pivoted and strode towards his humble desk which was cluttered with diagrams of the human physiognomy. The man not only seemed to perform well in his profession, but his profound dedication to self-education displayed in the dark circles around his eyes. “I had brought you in here because I intended to examine her body and I realize most owners wish to be present for that.” He settled down heavily and sighed while the candlelight cast writhing shadows across the room as they resembled tree branches dispersing towards a summer sky. Oddly enough, the shadows fluttered around Yurei’s sleeping form like the flapping wings of a bird. It performed the same for the stern and aloof assassin who had remained with her even through her ordeal.
“The area of where her brand is has been… cut out? That’s the best way to state it.” He lifted himself from the chair as he created distance between them as he approached Yurei and gently lifted the blanket to expose her upper thigh. Indeed, he had spoken truth; where the “kef” that Eve had branded into her flesh so long had been replaced by thickened, raised scar tissue that revealed crude knife marks which seemed to be done in haste. Her pale-tan skin which hinted a creamy yellowish-pink undertone provided a startling contrast to the ugly, savage marks that had intended to blemish her true identity to most men. It was foolish and stupid for a woman to depreciate her own beauty… but it was a brave, silent protest which few, if any dared to do – ruin the markers of which men placed upon them. It was her declaration to any and all who decided to enslave her of the lengths that she would go to secure her freedom.
“I assume she is recent acquisition to you; though, it looks as if she might prove difficult. I have only witnessed few instances of panther women mutilating themselves to deter captors. They usually don’t last very long within the collar. If this has dismayed you, I can always euthanize her. She is pretty, but far too scarred and perhaps too wild to tame and conquer, Killer.”
The physician had assumed Yurei belonged to Crow; but who wouldn’t consider that he brought her in? The physician didn’t prod any further but waited with anticipation for Crow’s response.
Crows Murder 
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