The atmosphere inside the dining room had shifted to something dark and suffocating. As soon as Lord Flinn collapsed to the floor, writhing in agony, one of the guards swiftly barked orders at the other to fetch a healer. Panic began to settle over the room, and the cold sweat on the guards' brows mirrored that of Lady Elsie, whose heart dropped into an abyss.
Flinn's veins bulged, his forehead distended with a pulsating vein that looked as though it would tear from the pressure. He lay unconscious, his body convulsing in response to the intense pain. It was all too familiar to Lady Elsie—the signs were unmistakable. She recognized the poison's effects immediately. It was a poison she had developed herself, one that could bring certain death in minutes.
Years ago, during her time in the military, Elsie had created this poison with the aim of eliminating enemy forces with precision. The poison was undetectable for the first two to four weeks and would show no symptoms until it was far too late for an antidote—if there had even been one to begin with. It was designed to be slow-acting and deadly, affecting the target silently until death struck swiftly in its final moments.
Her soldiers, under her command, would poison enemy supplies, turning the food into a weapon. They dressed up as bandits and intercepted enemy caravans. Killing the guards first and blindfolding the merchants, they made it look as though the theft was the goal. They stole any gold or currency notes they could find, leaving behind heaps of food and less expensive weapons behind. In two to four weeks, whole batallions would be slain. Elsie had always prided herself on being a strategic and pragmatic leader, one who understood that loyalty could often be cultivated through incentive. After every successful mission, she allowed her spies to divide the stolen gold amongst themselves as a reward. To her, this was a calculated investment, one that ensured their unwavering dedication to her cause. After all, who said loyalty couldn't be bought?
As Flinn's body convulsed on the floor, the terrible signs of the poison appeared: the popping veins, the uncontrollable pain, and the loss of consciousness. She knew in that instant: Flinn was beyond saving. No healer could undo this, not even her.
By the time Ms. Luwi, the healer, arrived, it was too late. Lord Flinn was already dead. Elsie was sobbing uncontrollably, overwhelmed by the shock and guilt. Annabeth, meanwhile, ran to her room, consumed by a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.
The dining room was left in confusion. Ms. Luwi couldn't make sense of the situation. She had seen cases of extreme internal bleeding before, most notably in Annabeth's mother, who had suffered a similar fate after childbirth. The rapid onset of bleeding had taken her life in minutes. However, she could find no connection between the two deaths beyond the bizarre similarities. Could it be possible that something about the environment had caused it? Or worse, could Annabeth somehow be involved, unknowingly?
Lady Elsie, for her part, was lost in her own confusion. She knew the poison had killed Flinn, but how had he come into contact with it? Her mind spun, trying to piece together the events. She had always assumed that if anyone were to fall victim to this poison, it would be Annabeth—after all, the girl had been a constant thorn in her side. First, there was the fact that Annabeth's mother had once been the woman Flinn had loved, the woman who had stolen him away from Elsie. Then, there was Annabeth's attitude, which Elsie found nothing but irritating. As the girl grew older, she knew that her stepdaughter would only become more of a threat—a powerful, magical threat, perhaps.
Elsie couldn't help but feel threatened by Annabeth. If Flinn had children with her, would they ever compare to Annabeth? Would they ever be able to hold a candle to the girl's talents? Elsie didn't believe so. She doubted she could even bear children who would come close to possessing the same magical abilities as her stepdaughter.
But now, the death of Lord Flinn had thrown everything into chaos, and Lady Elsie had no answers. What had gone wrong? Why had Flinn been the one to die from the poison she had created? And why had Annabeth been so certain about the food being poisoned? Everything had turned upside down, and the questions seemed to multiply as the minutes passed.
Initially, she had planned for both mother and child to die before the labor. Somehow the poison killed the mother but did not kill the baby. She had always wondered how Annabeth had survived since both mother and child were connected when Annabeth was still in the womb.
Even a little amount of poison would cause death so just how the hell did Annabeth survive? Was the placenta able to pick out the poison before it got to the fetus?
Lady Elsie had always been meticulous in her plans, knowing full well that Flinn's intolerance for overly sweet baked goods containing milk would keep him away from the poisoned cupcakes. It was a calculated move—an added safeguard to ensure he wouldn't be tempted to eat what was meant solely for Annabeth.
When Flinn developed diarrhea the next day, she initially brushed it off, attributing it to their passionate kiss the previous night. It had occurred shortly after he found her in the dining room, casually enjoying a batch of harmless cupcakes while recounting the incident with Annabeth. Those cupcakes, baked separately, had not been laced with poison.
But now, as she pieced together the sequence of events, a sickening realization struck her.
"I guess he ate them and lied about it to not hurt my feelings," she concluded bitterly.
Deep regret and guilt clawed at her heart. If only she hadn't let her jealousy cloud her judgment. If only she hadn't been so reckless. Tears pricked at her eyes as she silently cursed her own stupidity. The very man she had claimed to love more than life itself had paid the ultimate price for her foolishness.
***
Three hours after Lord Flinn's passing, the somber atmosphere of the mansion had reached its peak as mourners filled the halls and gardens, their low murmurs and subdued sobbing a testament to the weight of the tragedy. Among the mourners, neighbors and family friends had gathered in Annabeth's room, attempting to console the grieving child who sat curled in a corner, silent tears streaming down her face. Her usually fiery demeanor was replaced by a profound emptiness that consolers found difficult to penetrate.
Her body trembled involuntarily, a visceral response where her emotions refused to manifest. She felt numb, hollow—yet a deep, unsettling ache weighed down her chest. It was not the ache of grief alone but the bitter sting of defeat. Annabeth's mind echoed with one relentless thought: Lady Elsie had won.
For all her planning, for all her determination to prevent this very moment, she had failed. The funeral was still unfolding, a haze of whispered condolences and tearful goodbyes, but her thoughts had already turned to what lay beyond. The fragile world she had clung to would shatter completely. Without her father to shield her, life in this household would become intolerable.
Her future loomed over her like a stormcloud—lonely, cold, and governed by the very woman she believed responsible for her father's death. Lady Elsie, with her composed demeanor and practiced grief, would now hold all the power. Annabeth felt the weight of her stepmother's inevitable triumph settling into her bones, a weight she wasn't sure she could bear.
Her gaze fell to the floor, her fists clenched at her sides. "What now?" she wondered, though the answer already seemed painfully clear. After the funeral, she would have to run back to the mountains from her previous life.
***
Hovering just beyond the circle of consolers were the investigators and guards, exchanging tense whispers as they deliberated their next move. It was clear to them that Annabeth might hold crucial information about her father's death. Her earlier accusations against Lady Elsie had not gone unnoticed, and they were eager to uncover the truth. Yet, approaching a child mere hours after the loss of her father was a delicate task, and every time they inched closer, the disapproving glares from the mourners pushed them back, silently reminding them of the boundaries between mourning and investigation.
The tension between the two groups was palpable. Mourners scowled at the investigators, viewing their presence as an intrusion on sacred grieving rites. Meanwhile, the investigators regarded the consolers as obstacles, their protective barrier around Annabeth hindering the pursuit of justice. It was a standoff of priorities—grief versus duty—and neither side seemed willing to yield.
Suddenly, a piercing scream shattered the uneasy stalemate. All heads turned toward the source, just a few paces away from the gathered mourners. Lady Elsie had collapsed to the ground, her body convulsing in pain. The scene was eerily reminiscent of Lord Flinn's demise. Though her veins did not protrude as severely, her bloodshot eyes stared unblinking at the ceiling, and her labored breaths hinted at the same sinister affliction.
Ms. Luwi, who had remained at the mansion to mourn the passing of her old acquaintance and puzzle over the mystery of his death, rushed to Elsie's side. Her hands glowed as she cast her tier-five inquisition spell, her face paling as the results unfolded before her.
"Internal bleeding," she murmured, her voice tight with concern. "Multiple organs and veins… but not as advanced as Lord Flinn's case. This is different."
Without hesitation, she began casting tier-five healing spells, the shimmering golden light of her magic enveloping Lady Elsie's trembling form. Unlike Lord Flinn, who had succumbed quickly to the mysterious ailment, Ms. Luwi sensed that Lady Elsie had enough life force remaining to respond to her efforts.
The room erupted into chaos. Mourners gasped and clung to one another, while the investigators seized the opportunity, their sharp eyes taking in every detail.
For the first time, the mourners and investigators found their priorities momentarily aligned, as all eyes remained fixed on Lady Elsie's desperate struggle against the same shadowy force that had claimed Lord Flinn.
"Ki… ...m…"
Lady Elsie was trying to say something.
To Ms. Luwi's growing alarm, something inexplicable was occurring. Each time she stopped the bleeding in one of Lady Elsie's organs or blood vessels and moved to the next, the previously healed area began hemorrhaging again. It was as if her body was rejecting the very concept of recovery.
"Kis..." Lady Elsie attempted to speak, her voice barely audible over the gasps of onlookers.
"Please, my Lady," Ms. Luwi implored, her voice steady but laced with urgency. "Save your strength. Your condition is critical."
A crowd had formed around them, pressing closer with every moment. Whispers rippled through the onlookers, a mix of morbid curiosity and concern. Though they couldn't fully see what Ms. Luwi was doing, they strained to catch any details about the mysterious and unsettling events unfolding before them.
Desperate to stabilize her patient, Ms. Luwi shifted her focus to Lady Elsie's head, hoping the bleeding there would respond differently to her spells. But her hands trembled—something they rarely did—and she couldn't shake the sinking feeling growing in the pit of her stomach. The relentless reopening of wounds made her begin to panic, though she forced herself to maintain a composed façade.
"Kissed..." Lady Elsie rasped, her voice cracking as tears slid down the sides of her face, pooling on the stone floor beneath her.
"Don't speak, my Lady," Ms. Luwi said again, though a chill ran through her. The fragmented word hung in the air like a riddle waiting to be solved.
"...hi...m…" Lady Elsie finally managed, each syllable labored and broken by her shallow breaths. Her tears continued to fall as her gaze locked on some distant, far beyond the heads of her healer and spectators.
In that instant, Ms. Luwi's mind raced. Could Lady Elsie be confessing something? Had she kissed Lord Flinn while he was already stricken? The implication was chilling. If the mysterious condition could be transmitted through something as simple as a kiss, it could mean that Lady Elsie herself had unwittingly sealed her fate.
But Ms. Luwi had no time to think further. The moment Lady Elsie's final words left her lips, her body stilled. Her ragged breathing stopped. Her expression froze in a mix of sorrow and regret.
Death had answered the door, and Lady Elsie had stepped through.
The gathered crowd gasped in unison. Some murmured prayers for her soul, while others exchanged uneasy glances, their curiosity morphing into dread. If whatever had killed the couple was airborne, they could be next, they thought. Ms. Luwi sank back on her heels, her hands falling limply to her sides. A knot of frustration and despair tightened in her chest.
She had failed... again.
And yet, Lady Elsie's cryptic words echoed in her mind. "Kissed him." What did it mean? Did it hold the key to the tragic chain of events?