Another restless night. Judging by the candle that he had left burning, Elias had managed to pass out for an hour, maybe two. For a long while, he remained in his bed, tossing and turning to try and get himself comfortable, but he couldn't fall asleep again. The nagging feeling and tension had returned, making sleep impossible.
Elias sat up and dragged his feet off the bed. The warm skin of his soles touched the cold stone, making the foot flinch back, a sharp pain rolling up his leg as the heel struck a hard, wooden surface underneath the bed.
Complaining to himself about the pain mentally - even in his thoughts, the man rarely cursed - he leaned down, reaching for his foot to rub the heel, trying to spot what was it that caused him pain. The man froze briefly - seeing the shape of a hard, wooden box, the corner stained with a drop of blood drawn from his heel.
He had forgotten the box was there, the memory coming back to him now of the box, and of what was inside of it.
The work has been delayed for far too long; it had completely slipped his mind. The doctor felt like he forgot his goal after planning to continue once he had settled down in the new infirmary. But, the project was abandoned, now collecting dust under his bed.
Elias slid off the bed, falling to his knees to steady himself while pulling the large box out. The man raised it to the top of the bed. "I need that time," the doctor muttered, rising to his feet and reaching for the black coat, hanging off the backrest of his chair. Feeling a sudden surge of energy fueling his tired body, the restless mind finding its purpose again. The coat was swiftly put on, cold leather resting against the bare, lithe frame of the man, covering him from head to toe.
"There have been too many distractions" he spoke, hoisting the heavy box and carrying it over to the workbench, bottles rattling within the wooden box.
The iron clasps were opened with a dull click, alongside a clack of the padlock, put aside for safety with a key inside of it. With the hefty lid lifted, the arrangement of bottles of various sized shone, reflecting the dim moonlight in a myriad reflex pon the walls. Each in its individual compartment, marked and labeled with odd symbols. Elias ignored it - instead reaching for a small handle in the center, lifting the bottom of the box and revealing a second layer, where he kept a large number of powders and various shavings, also labeled like the vials, as well as old notes, collected over years, all encrypted using signs and mixed-up words, making it nigh impossible for a stranger to decipher.
The doctor took his time to carefully withdraw what he needed to begin his work, arranging it in a specific order on the work surface. A few candles were lit and placed in stands, serving as burners. The man left them for now, lifting a flask to his face - the tired, green eyes distorted through the liquid within, mostly transparent, but clouded with silvery taint. He swirled the liquid around in its container, studying how it behaved. Satisfied by it, he reached for a small pipette, collecting a drop and withdrawing the tool, placing it's top on his tongue. Tasting the tincture, to make certain nothing was off before his work began in earnest. Once assured, the man poured the liquid into the main boiling flask, bringing it high over the open flame.
While waiting for the liquid to be brought to its boiling point, Elias stepped aside to start putting the distillation apparatus together, preparing for the next step. The abandoned experiment was finally making its return from where it was left off, before the moving.
-"Good. The work is continuing."
The man raised his head at the sound of a familiar voice, his brows furrowing in irritation. "I don't recall letting you in" he responded, the eyes returning to his apparatus, studying the reflection found in it - one of a tall, graceful man, dressed in fine, crimson robes. His brows thick and heavy, sitting above the dark, brown eyes, staring back from a thin, angular face. His chestnut hair slick from the oil, combed to the back of the intruder's head, contrasting with a bushy, unkempt goatee around the jaw and mouth.
- "There's been too much distraction."
"I'm aware," answered the doctor, tearing his eyes away from the man's reflection, finishing his preparations.
- "Time will run out. The race of Men was never meant to live long, and lives of their healers are even briefer."
Dimheim placed the apparatus aside once he finished assembling it, leaning forward, resting the arms on the workbench to support himself on them, "Not all of Men. There were, perhaps still are, those that lived longer. Hundreds of years, even. If they're able to, so am I. All I need is to understand how to pry from them their secret."
-"How?"
Elias's eyes fell back to the boiling flask. "With the spirit of Men, of course" his reply was calm, academic in tone. "It is the key; it always has been. It's the heart of the red tincture, and I have the guidance, the old notes, and gold. Together with these, I will succeed. With success, I'll have my time. As much as I will ever need."
-"What about the distractions?"
As the liquid boiled, it fumed into the air, while the doctor was putting his gloves on. Once that was done, he took the bottle off the heat, transferring the liquid within into the apparatus, careful not to spill - both not to waste it and not to damage the workbench.
"There won't be any" he muttered, closing the new flask and placing a small candle underneath it, watching as once more, the fumes began to rise, collecting at the top and seeping down the long, tilted tube.
- "What about those women, the man, the dwarf? They all keep visiting."
Elias frowned, stepping back and resting the gloved hand on his face, sliding it down slowly. "They will not distract me. They are good company."
-"Madness and lunacy. Something isn't right; they may be after the work and notes. They've seen the effects of those experiments; they were given them as gifts."
Dimheim's eyes widened. "The flakes. No... no, they wouldn't. This isn't why they come here. It cannot be."
-"This is why we hide things. Something is wrong. Why?"
"You're right. Something is wrong. But what, and why?" the man's eyes shifted back and forth, breath turning heavier with each inhale. "I've not eaten anything odd, nor do I have a fever."
-"The tea."
"The tea?" repeating the words, the doctor subconsciously looked towards the kitchen. "No, the tea has been fine. There's nothing wrong with it; I make it personally."
-"What about the tea they make for you? It could be poisoned."
Elias froze, cold sweat setting on his skin, a cold shiver running down the spine. "Why would they-? For my secrets? They want-... no, I will not believe that."
-"Something is wrong."
The man growled irritably. "Yes. You're wrong. You are supposed to be dead." Shaking his head, the doctor turned sharply, holding his temple not to fall over, to stabilize his swimming mind. "What are you doing there, fath-"
All Elias could do was blink, eyes growing wide in the dimly lit room. He met the gaze of the eyes staring into his - those of Elias Dimheim, his own, pale reflection staring back.
Cold sweat began to roll down the man's forehead, heavy breathing not slowing - the contrary, picking up, almost hyperventilating.
"Something is wrong... something is wrong with me."
