Mystic: One semester of nursing school left, y'all! Hollaaaa! Meanwhile, Imma write this instead of preparing for my boards.

For once in his life, Kuja was a bit uncertain of what to do. He stood there, head tilted, hand on hip, and stared at the woman he found on that gorgeous airship. Months had gone by and he had born witness to her when she sobbed, when she yelled, and now, when she worked.

It was quite dizzying, really.

White mages bustled past him in their starched cloaks, ignoring his confusion. They hustled from room to room in a ward cluttered with gross things and peasants lacking dignity. Those same peasants groaned or cried out or remained silent as a white sheet blanketed them from head to feet. At least those peasants didn't bother anyone.

And in the midst of it all, there was Hilda. Dignified, standing tall, she was speaking to a black-robed physician. Well, more like demanding. When Hilda spoke, everyone heard it.

"I've already placed bed four flat and raised her legs, but she needs fluids! I can barely palpate a blood pressure!"

The physician sighed, rubbed the bridge of his greasy nose. "What do you want, Sister Hilda?"

Several of the younger white mages strained their ears to hear the exchange. Their pencils were as still as some of the peasants under the white sheets. Even Kuja looked forward to it.

"I just told you! Extra fluids or her veins will collapse!" Hilda looked down at her own stack of papers. "And please discontinue the foxglove. Her heartrate is consistently in the forties." She smiled sweetly, like a wife who pretended to submit unto thy husband, but the entire village knew better.

Kuja watched as the physician nodded his assent. Hilda flounced back to the supply area, victorious yet again. The back of her cloak rustled behind her as the ward seamlessly returned to their standard operations. "This is what I get for leaving the lady to her own devices," the sorcerer thought to himself. "I run the auction house and she runs a hospital ward."

Interesting how she chose a hospital instead of the husband she didn't even pretend to act submissive toward throughout the ill-gotten marriage. Which explained the sorcerer's uncertainty of his remaining time in Treno. He truly just wanted to get to know the lady better, not watch her not even attempt to run away from him. She runs toward hard work instead. It's just … vile.

"May I help you, m'lord?" a cockney accent jolted Kuja from his thoughts. A young little thing in a white cloak stared up at him. If forced to guess, the girl appeared to be a student as evidenced by the lack of stripe and pin.

He bowed, of course. "I'm simply waiting on the lady, Hilda." Kuja watched the background as his captive sauntered into bed four, carrying a tray with a heavy bottle of clear fluids, thick tubing, and a hollow needle. "She neglected to tell me she … scheduled herself to work today." Yes, that sounded right.

"Sister Hilda?" the student smiled. "She's absolutely wonderful. Without her, more patients would end up in the pit. I love it when she teaches."

"When will she be available?"

"End of shift is at sundown. She'll be free then."

Kuja knew the stresses and difficulties of the white mage. Chances were high Hilda would return to their suite tired, hungry, and cranky like a toddler. It wasn't fair, he scowled. He wanted to take her to dinner since this was Treno of all places. Dinner with the lady was his favourite part of the day. They'd sit and catch up, and he'd wax poetically of all his ideas over a bottle of good wine. She never judged, never spoke ill, never really argued. Hilda listened and asked questions. Now these sick little peasants had her attention and the idea of that made him sick to his stomach.

Perhaps the odor of sick and disinfectant married together in one small area played a role as well. Blood was pungent enough.

"Sister, why do I feel so dizzy?"

Hilda smiled, screamed internally, then placed the woman on her back and propped several pillows under the feet. "I believe it's time to alert the physician of your ailment."

Meanwhile, someone else began to vomit. They vomited like an infant whose nursemaid forgot how long the bottle sat out. The stomach contents didn't just hit the floor, it bounced off the straw and splattered on the wall. Projectile. Oh, dear.

Her little student stared at the mess. "Should I get the basin, Sister?"

"Ifrit's sake, yes!" Poor thing. Still within her studies and fighting the urge to scatter like a rat when the torches were lit. Hilda rushed in the vomit-covered bay, quickly forcing the poor soul into a sitting position. She glanced at his eyes beneath the bandages wrapped around the head, dried blood crusting into the thinning hair. "Sir, look at me. Look at me. Can you tell me your name?"

His eyes followed her finger, but in a way that made her scream internally again. His eyes were slow, sluggish, and resembled the shiny dolls that sat on little girls' beds. But the little doll was half-broken and left in the dirt during a rainstorm.

When the man attempted to lie back down, Hilda caught him. "No, no you don't. Sit back up." He was dead weight, but the lady was not a weakling. One of her handmaidens in Lindblum liked to tease that Lady Hilda put the 'mage in magick!'

…the girl never could spell properly.

A heave and a chant, Hilda placed the man sitting against the wall. "Sir, tell me your name." He stared with his sluggish, broken doll's eyes, ignoring when the student without her stripes hurried beside her mentor.

"He knew his name this morning, Sister. It's Daniel."

"Daniel, can you tell me where you are?" Hilda tried again. Nothing, but the blank, glassy stare. "I need that physician. He's deteriorating."

And vomiting into a basin that did not deserve such maltreatment. Out of her own tired vision, Hilda saw the silver and the pale skin, the arrogance and the annoyance. He waited for her, but it was different than when Regent Cid stood outside as the forgotten husband while wifey toiled away. One waited from jealousy, the other –

"Who unwrapped this patient's bandage? When I order a wound to be wrapped, I intend for it to be wrapped and stay wrapped!"

Yet, according to the Matron, today was an easy day.

When Hilda finally did sit down, her tea, though cold and bitter, brought a smile to her face. She relaxed at the central desk with the other white mages, preparing to write down her observations and interventions with the patients on the ward. Her student bathed the gentleman who vomited to the point where he didn't know who he was, who vomited to the point he flopped over, who vomited to the point his eyes dilated and stayed that way for good. Ifrit preserve them, the physician did not return in time to fix it.

"Fix him!" Hilda wanted to demand. "Fix him, fix him, fix him, fix him, fix him!" She did not however, because such an outburst was considered unprofessional. "First death?" Hilda called out across the ward.

"No," the student sighed. "I did part of my training in an elderly home. The reaper visited more than family there."

The white mages at the desk stifled their laughter. "How much longer do you have in your studies, sweetie?" asked an older white mage with salt and pepper hair.

"Two more blocks after this."

"I will never understand how they train white mages these days. Still, you could not pay me to return to the academy."

Every single white hood nodded in assent. The thought of it sent a shudder down Hilda's back worse than an evening with the sorcerer.

"It drove me to wine," said one.

Hilda shrugged. "Hellfire, I made a contract with Hades."

"Wish I would've thought of that. Maybe I would've passed my registrar exam with less questions."

"Seventy-five," said Hilda.

"Show off."

"And I was a new bride."

"Your marriage survived the academy?"

Hilda felt that query deep in her soul. "No."

"But you have a new gentleman caller," said the student, draping a sheet over the deceased. "I think he's pretty."

On the outside, maybe, Hilda thought to herself. Kuja acted extraordinarily the nobleman. Polite, genteel, eloquent with his word play. She wondered why she came to the hospital to work instead of running back to Cid when given the chance. And Kuja always gave her a chance. For a prisoner, she felt surprisingly free to do as she pleased. "He's even more pretty when he doesn't talk."

Laughter filled the ward. White mages loved to chat when writing their paperwork.

"How long do you plan on working in the wards?"

Hilda picked at her plate, yawned. "As long as we remain in Treno. They're short of staff."

"But, why?"

"I like the feeling of usefulness. I'm not the sort of woman to sit around in a palace idly sewing with handmaidens."

"I won't stop you," Kuja said, reaching for his wine glass. "Just be aware that I deserve your time as well. I don't like it when my companion is exhausted and sweaty. I can't stand it."

"I know how to bathe."

"Unlike those peasants in the wards."

"They're sick."

"It's vile."

Hilda wanted a nap.

The next day in the hospital, a black-robbed physician stopped Lady Hilda in the entryway. He was tall, lanky, walked with a limp and a cane. His face was scruffy because he did not have time to groom his facial hair. "Sister Hilda?"

"Yes, sir?"

The physician pulled a pill out of his pocket and popped it in his mouth. The pill was compacted powder; Hilda recognized it by it's color. From the poppy flower. Compounded opium. Wonderful. "We need another white mage for the children's ward. Follow me."

Lovely. "Of course, doctor." She followed him as he limped along the floor which needed a good scrubbing. "How many children?" she asked.

"Five. There were six, but one was released to the arms of Alexander last night."

That explained the tiny white sheet being carried out along the roadside. Hilda found herself assigned to two cradles: one wee bairn with a tendency to turn blue whenever she cried and the second with malformed hands and feet because the young mother drank a potion designed to cure her of her morning sickness while in circumstances. "Comfort care for that one," the Matron of the ward ordered, pointing to the second cradle. "It won't make it."

Hilda took her report, smoothed her cloak, the hurriedly went to the crying infant slowly turning blue. Blue babies were easy. Pick them up, rock them, love on them, then place their pudgy knees on their chest. She wasn't sure why, but knee to chest always brought back proper color to the skin. A twenty-minute feed with the bottle calmed the little one to a restful slumber. Once calm and back in the cradle, Hilda braced herself to examine her other charge.

She had heard of the miracle potion that stopped a woman's sickness during pregnancy. It worked, but at a price. Anything with such promises came at a price. Babies with terrible problems - defects. Their limbs were fused, or missing. Too many rarely survived more than a few days. Matron was right. This one would not live through the shift.

There was a heart rate, but it was far too low to sustain the blood. The breath was shallow and uneven, coming in spurts before stopping for several seconds. Comfort care. Swaddle. Hold. Wait for the baby to die.

"There, there, young one," Hilda cooed. She wrapped the babe tightly in a blanket and lifted the bundle in her arms. "By Hades' will, you won't suffer on this land." Round eyes looked at her. "Soon you will be in the arms of Persephone, whole and loved. I will guide you and wait with you."

At the central desk, the matron and limping physician argued about the blue baby. Lady Hilda considered stealing one of his opium pills.

She did not like nights in Treno. It was loud with parties and shop peddlers shouting at the masses. She felt useless and bored, hanging on to Kuja's arm, pretending to be interested at his conversations with the dignitaries and ambassadors. The champagne tasted pointless, like the lies the sorcerer told to get his way. Lady Hilda had just about grown tired of it.

Kuja was a man of two parts. When she returned to his suite after a shift in the children's ward, he held her as she sobbed in his arms. He listened to her story of the malformed baby who stopped breathing on her watch, in her hands. "The creature died safe in your care, lady. May all souls have such a peaceful journey to the netherworld."

He'd say that, but then blather on about all souls purposely going to the hereafter. It confused her and wore down her psyche. And she wanted her ship back. "Why are you nicer to me than my husband was?!" she wanted to yell at him. She wanted to shake him like a stressed out nanny. Instead, Hilda smiled and said, "Thank you," because he drew her a bath infused with lavender oil.

There were many phrases and words that the lady wished she could speak aloud, but it was beneath her station to do so. Such was the life of noblewoman and white mage. To give an example: "Oh, dear Ifrit! He's going to die!" when confronted with an aging gentleman scheduled for the barber's knife. Words actually spoken: "Not to worry, good sir. Our barber is well-trained in surgery."

Thought: "Please shut up. You look like a transvestite with a secret lair in which to make a man for pleasure."

Actual words: "Are you not cold, sorcerer? It is a bit chilly, outside."

When left to her devices in the Desert Palace, Lady Hilda kept to the greenhouse or the library. Just in case.

"Do you know why I let you live, lady?"

Only Kuja could make watching a woman bathe not as creepy as it could have been. He even gave her a cup of chamomile tea. "You see," he began. "All the great performances require an understudy, and you, dear woman, are a phenomenal understudy."

"I take over when someone else drops their commitments?"

"Without you, this grand show could not continue."

"Defend your position, sorcerer."

He smiled. "The Regent of Lindblum needed a bride for his posterity. You stepped in and fulfilled the role. The sick and dying often have no one, so you became a registered white mage to fulfill the role. Why, even I grow lonely in my endeavors and you wonderfully fulfill the role of treasured companion."

Lady Hilda stared at him; he made a point. "I shall take your words as a compliment."

"But be careful, lady. Don't keep accepting another's role to the point where you forget your original purpose."

Hilda liked to think the best place would be in the shadows, quietly pulling strings behind the scenes to control the opening night. No one would suspect a thing because the ending would be the same, but the backstory of the antagonist might show a slight deficiency. The hero wins, gets the girl, but the villain dies because someone else fired the first arrow and walked away without receiving credit. Similar to how a physician is praised for diagnosing the lung disease, but it was a quiet white mage who first heard the crackles in the chest.

Hilda returned a smile toward the sorcerer, and didn't recoil when he kissed her cheek.

When the lady neglected her mindful meditation, she tended to get cranky. Maybe if she had better focused her energies the morning she discovered Cid's infidelity, the regent wouldn't be stuck learning a new language with verb tenses that involve 'he, she, they gwok.' A noble lady with a clear head would have silently ignored the situation and start an affair with the well-muscled gardener. No fuss, no drama.

As a child, Lady Hilda learned many methods of scrying or divination. Her grandmother taught her the art of reading tea leaves and palms, and her great aunt demonstrated skills in rune casting, but Hilda felt more at ease with the Tarot deck handed down from her mother. It kept her hands busy while she quieted her mind. Shuffle, shuffle, draw.

What was going on for her right now? The emperor card. Raised by a coven of wise women, Lady Hilda grew to appreciate the occasional drop of male who joined in their rituals. She especially liked to to seat at the feet of 'Papa L', a dark-skinned fae with a top hat and walking stick. He told the best stories while smoking a pipe. Whenever Hilda faced a difficult decision, Papa L guided her in the right direction.

Pity she didn't think to ask him about marriage.

Papa L led Hilda to her patron spirit guide and, considering the emperor card, it was clear the spirit desired to share some wisdom in this unusual time. When Hilda teased she made a contract with Hades to survive the white mage academy, she wasn't actually telling a joke. Alright, time for a meeting.

Thankfully, Treno University Hospital stood a short distance from a crossroads. When the Matron ordered Lady Hilda to take her scheduled break, she ran, cloak flying, toward that one spot where roads intertwine under a crescent moon. Two vials, one of rum, one of coffee, clanged in her pockets. Under her skirts strapped to her thigh, was a dagger. It was partly for personal protection, but mostly because Hilda sometimes dabbled in blood magick. Not enough to pass out, but enough for shock value and impressing the ignorant.

The dagger, decorated with a drop of blood from a finger tip, drew a large circle in the dirt. Once, twice, three times cast. Hilda remained in its center. Two vials, one of rum, one of coffee, buried on the outside. One more drop of her blood to summon. It fell on the inside.

"Baby, I knew you missed me." He fiddled with the cuff links on his starched black tuxedo.

Hilda focused on his eyes, which danced with fire before transitioning to a sharp blue. "My dark lord," she curtsied.

"Ew, don't do that. Whatcha need, sweetheart?"

"Kuja."

"What about him?"

"Hades, seriously?"

The dark lord pulled a flask from his tuxedo and poured a shot into a coffee mug. "I've been watching him. I knew you would ask for help eventually." He sipped contentedly. "Mm, you brought the good shit."

"You're welcome." Hilda didn't have too much longer to waste. "Since you've been watching him, then you've been listening to him. It's a nightmare."

"Oh, I listened a little bit, but I got bored."

"Hades!"

His eyes fired red again. "Calm your tits, Hilda; I'll help you out, but you know the drill."

"Name it," she said. She didn't hesitate.

An owl landed on his shoulder. Hades stroked it under its beak. "Drain him."

" ... of blood or ..."

"Power," he answered. "His magick. Siphon off a tiny sliver of it, which will leave him weak enough to be defeated by a group of meddling ragamuffins. Pretty boy won't even miss it."

Lady Hilda sighed, thinking. "Alright, do you have a spell for that?"

Hades started to laugh. He laughed like the teenage boy who accidentally stumbled into a brothel and realized the definition of 'house special.' "Of course, babe. It's that spell underneath your skirts, there. Tell me, what's the best thing a woman can place by her earrings? Give up? Her ankles!"

Of course Hades made inappropriate comments. His wife recently returned to him for the solstice season. "That's it?" Hilda asked. "You want me to lay with Kuja?"

"Rip off that codpiece and tap him like a maple tree."

Hilda remained quiet because she knew there was more to be said. Good magick always comes with a price.

"However," Hades said.

Ah, there it was. "No one can know."

"Pardon?"

"I know you, Hilda. Once you bed the villain, you'll waltz back to the Regent and brag about your conquest to make him feel even worse. Not that I blame you, but I wouldn't be the dark lord if I made it too easy for you. So, if anyone asks - mainly Cid - you lie." He flashed a grin, the coffee mug disappearing. "Well, do we have a deal?"

Lady Hilda steadied herself, then stepped outside of her circle. She grabbed the dark lord by his lapel, pulled him into a kiss.

Hours Later

The dark felt different to Kuja, slightly colder, slightly more like someone was watching him. It wasn't the lady; no, she was sound asleep beside him. He could appreciate that Hilda finally played the part he always wanted, the wanton mistress who made all the wives jealous, but now he couldn't shake the feeling that his headache was more than a headache. It throbbed, and Kuja decided to light a candle to fight the darkness.

Two moons orbited this wretched world, but only one, shaped like a crescent, shone down on the clearing outside his suite. He found himself gazing outside, then following the moonlight as it rested upon his bed-mate. Hilda made an excellent prize. "Next time," he thought. "Less wine." That had to be it.

Kuja lit another candle for good measure, then quietly returned to the sheets. He scooped Hilda in his arms, waiting for sleep to embrace him. The sorcerer ignored the continuous, unrelenting sensation of eyes upon him. Too much wine, not enough food. Even when a branch snapped outside, he let it be and buried his face against Hilda's soft hair.

"I've been watching him," Hades had said.

And the dark lord continued to watch. In the fields adjacent to Kuja's Treno suite, a black goat grazed among the sweet-grass. Every now and then, it would stare into the bedchamber window. At the goat's side, stood a woman adored with flowers, holding a happy infant.