The potion only worked for me. Lord Fashire had gone out and tested the potion on multiple villagers and they had all died from taking a drop of it.
All those innocent people had died because of me…
Lord Lorn cursed under his breath at the end of it all, and I stiffened when I realised Fashire had not mentioned my father to him at all.
Why?
"This is vexing," Lord Lorn hissed.
With an air of carefree nonchalance, Lord Fashire replied, "In that case, I must take my leave."
"What?!"
Lord Fashire chuckled. "I am returning to my castle on this realm. I would need my lab, especially when it comes to sourcing out the ingredients for this strange concoction… and I will not be entrusting this to anyone."
Lord Lorn hissed. "Venti—"
"In addition," Lord Fashire cut him off. "I intend to unravel whatever secrets the little lady holds within her body."
My stomach tightened at the mention of a lab and experiments.
I didn't want to be a test subject.
The footsteps drew closer and it urged me into action. I dashed forward, scrambling blindly through the narrow corridor until I reached the door at the end.
I stifled the sobs that racked my body. Escape was impossible now. My father was alone and defenceless. And my aunt… where was she? Had this been a trap all along?
I opened the door.
The room beyond flooded with light as I swung the door wide. Raised voices clamoured behind me. I dashed inside and slammed the door shut.
The voices stopped and my weak legs caused me to sink to the floor.
It was a circular, enclosed chamber. My eyes took in the closed transparent cylindrical compartment housing a commode and a silver sink, along with a mirror. Taps adorned the sink and bathtub.
Feeling so filthy, I slowly dragged myself to the sink.
I looked in the mirror to see the mess I was.
My eyes were bloodshot from crying, and my once tamed curls had transformed into a wild, matted tangle. Dark circles marred the skin beneath my eyes and my sweat-drenched face appeared haggard.
Dried blood coated my skin and dress and my attention shifted to my bloodied shoulder.
I winced at the pain that throbbed and radiated down my arm.
It hurt to even move, but I had to clean it.
My hands lightly trembled as I touched the sink and twisted the tap. Clear water trickled out, and I rinsed my arms before pausing at the wound. I scooped water and splashed it directly onto my shoulder.
The throbbing in my shoulder transformed into a sharp stabbing pain that nearly made me scream. I bit my lip hard and clutched the edge of the sink with my weak arm as I continuously rinsed away the blood.
I faced the mirror again and froze.
I leaned closer, rubbed my eyes in disbelief, and hoped that this illusion would fade away.
The gaping wound on my shoulder was now a messy reddish-brown scar. I ran my fingers over it and flinched. The pain was still there.
I was very confused.
It was gaping open before I had washed myself.
No wound healed this fast, especially not one this severe.
I doubted the potion could even have done this.
I stumbled backwards, then noticed the mess I had made on the floor.
I removed my dress and winced as I attempted to limit the movement of my injured arm, now apparently healed.
Hanging my undergarments over my good shoulder, I balled up my dress and started using it to mop up the watered-down blood. When I was done, I dumped the soggy dress in the sink and used my undergarments to properly mop the floor clean.
There was nothing else for me to wear.
I then washed my clothes in the sink and left them there as a wet pile before moving to the bathtub and filling it with water.
The moment I slipped in, a scalding pain tore through my shoulder where the water touched my scar.
I bit down on my hand, stifling a cry of agony.
The urge to submerge myself underwater and stay till my lungs ran out of air was strong.
But who would take care of my father if I was gone? How could I even take care of him now?
The door to the bath chamber opened and I grew rigid as someone walked in.