Melan's pov: 

"What the hell even happened to you," I mutter after managing to drag her into the bathroom with my healer's kit. All on my own, mind you. None of the others helped, they just stopped and stared then looked away. 

"Run in with guards," she chuckles darkly, seeming a little more coherent now that I've sealed a few of the smaller wounds most likely made by plants and thorns. "I saw Eryn again."

"Who the hell is Eryn?" I snap, working furiously as I try to heal the frostbite, my hands glowing brightly with magic as I've never healed this sort of injury before. "And stop laughing! You're creeping me out."

"But it's funny," she laughs again, and the only thing that stops me from smacking her is the fact it would probably kill her. 

"What's not fucking funny is the fact you have frostbite, a broken ankle, a broken wrist, a gash in your shoulder, magical exhaustion, blood loss, and an arrow in your thigh," I snap, pulling the arrow out aggressively and immediately cleaning and sealing the wound. I clean it with an ointment I borrowed from the front desk and seal the wound with my healing abilities, watching the flesh knit back together but leaving a large scar that'll have to heal on its own. 

"Still funny," she giggles, and at that point I can't even hold myself back. I practically backhand her across the face so hard her head snaps to the side, only making her laugh more. 

"Fuck you," I curse, still trying to heal the frostbite so her limbs don't fall off. Now this is why I failed healing classes. 

"I'd enjoy that," she mutters and I slap her again. She laughs again. 

I lapse into silence, refusing to speak to her when she's clearly either out of sorts or out of her mind. 

"It is funny, honestly," Imogen trails on, making me pause. She doesn't sound very out of sorts now. Her voice low and exhausted but steady in a way you wouldn't expect from someone who's gone insane. 

"What is?" I ask cautiously. 

I look her over again. Dark hair that hides her eyes, cascading like a roll of silk down her back. Upturned eyes that seem to always be either grinning or glaring, and I can't decide which I like better on her. Her hands and feet are nearly blue against her sickly pale skin, like she hasn't seen the sun in days, always wearing that giant hooded coat of hers. Now, leaning against the bathroom wall, sprawled out and half unconscious, more vulnerable than I've ever seen her. I'm so unused to it it's almost uncomfortable. 

"That no one wants me alive and I somehow still bother to try," she huffs. 

I pause. The magical exhaustion must be affecting her, she's acting completely insane. I wonder if I'll be able to get a straightjacket for her without incriminating myself... "What do you-" 

"Mom, dead, gone," she says, sounding incoherent again. "Dad, doesn't even know who I am. To everyone here? A burden. To anyone else? A trickster unworthy of the mud beneath their shoes. Wonder why no one thinks about how a person gets there in the first place." 

"You're speaking gibberish," I say flatly. 

Imogen lets out a frustrated huff. "Don't pretend you don't understamp me-" 

"It's understand." 

"Tomato potato." 

"That's not the saying," I cut in, genuinely worried she may have lost her mind. 

"Why even try if won't make a not the same," she slurs. 

"What the fuck." 

"Difference," she corrects herself. "Why even try if it won't even make a difference? Simone will be happy, the guards will be glad they don't have to deal with me, and people won't be tricked out of their money anymore." 

"Shut up," I snap, trying to shake her out of whatever is going on in her head. 

"Ever notice people are so much quicker to get violent with me over anyone else?" she mutters, starting to slowly lose consciousness again. 

"Wake up!" I shout, shaking her hard and trying to ignore whatever nonsense she's spouting. "You have a concussion. You might die." 

"Mhmmm..." she mumbles. "It's funny because I tried, up until today. Client would've attacked me, guards tried to kill me, Simone tried to kill me, when I'm gone, it's gonna be like nothing even happened. I can't feel anything anyways, death might be... better. Least no one will hit me when I'm already half-dead over there." 

I freeze. I did just do that. "Shice, look, I'm sorry-" 

"People are so much quicker to get physical when they know you can't feel it physically," she mutters under her breath, so quietly I have to strain to hear her. "They don't think of you as a person. But it's not like I don't feel anything when someone I thought cared about me smacks me in the face. But why should I fight back? Let them hurt me. Then maybe I'll finally be gone and it'll have made no difference at all." 

"Shice- Imogen," I try, perhaps the first time I've used her real name out loud. "Don't... Don't give up on yourself." 

She doesn't seem to hear me, her eyes finally sliding shut and her body going limp. 

I quickly look for a pulse, hoping and praying she isn't dead. Thankfully, I hear a heartbeat. She's either passed out from blood loss or exhaustion. 

"You motherfucker," I grumble. She tells me what she's been feeling all this time, I get sappy for the first time in years, and she passes out before hearing it. I sigh and go back to work healing her many injuries, not quite able to focus.

A/N: Ahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa suicidal main character check~ Next pov will be back to Imogen's.