Lady Evelyn Shaw moved through the dimly lit corridors of Shaw Manor with measured steps, her elegant gown rustling softly against the plush carpeting. In her hands, she balanced a silver tray laden with an assortment of light, nourishing foods - a bowl of steaming porridge, delicate slices of poached chicken, and fresh fruits carefully arranged.
As she navigated the winding passages, each step felt heavier than the last. The weight she carried was not merely physical; it was the crushing burden of guilt, shame, and a mother's anguish. The once-bustling halls of their ancestral home now seemed to echo with an oppressive silence, as if the very walls were holding their breath in anticipation of some looming calamity.
Servants scurried out of her path, averting their eyes and offering hasty curtsies or bows. Evelyn barely registered their presence, her thoughts consumed by the task that lay ahead. She had insisted on delivering James's meal personally, dismissing the protests of both her husband and the household staff. This was her penance, her cross to bear.
As she approached the secluded wing where James had been relocated, the atmosphere grew even more oppressive. The rich tapestries and ornate furnishings that adorned the rest of the manor gave way to stark, unadorned walls. It was as if all warmth and life had been deliberately stripped away, leaving only a cold, institutional bleakness.
Two guards stood at rigid attention outside the heavy oak door that marked James's new quarters. Their faces were impassive, but Evelyn could sense the undercurrent of tension in their postures. As she drew near, they exchanged a brief glance before stepping aside, one of them reaching for the door handle.
"My lady," the guard murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Are you certain you wish to enter alone? Perhaps one of us should accompany you..."
Evelyn's gaze hardened, a flash of her old imperious manner surfacing. "I thank you for your concern, but that will not be necessary. I am more than capable of attending to my son without supervision."
The guard nodded, chastened, and swung the door open. Evelyn stepped through, hearing the soft click of the latch as it closed behind her. For a moment, she simply stood there, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dimness within.
The room was spartan, devoid of any of the luxuries to which James had been accustomed. A narrow cot occupied one corner, its thin mattress barely indenting under the weight of its occupant. A rickety table and chair stood against the opposite wall, their surfaces bare save for a few untouched trays of food from previous attempts to nourish him.
And there, hunched on the edge of the cot, was James.
Evelyn's breath caught in her throat as she took in the sight of her firstborn, her pride and joy, reduced to this hollow shell. James sat motionless, his once-proud shoulders slumped in defeat. His hair, usually so meticulously styled, hung in lank, greasy strands around his gaunt face. The fine linen shirt he wore hung loosely on his frame, emphasizing how much weight he had lost in the days since the incident.
But it was his eyes that truly broke Evelyn's heart. Those vibrant orbs that had once sparkled with mischief and ambition now stared blankly ahead, devoid of any light or life. It was as if James wasn't truly there at all, his consciousness having retreated to some dark, unreachable place.
Swallowing hard against the lump in her throat, Evelyn approached slowly. "James?" she called softly, her voice wavering slightly. "Darling, I've brought you something to eat. Won't you try a little, for me?"
There was no response, not even a flicker of acknowledgement in those vacant eyes. Evelyn set the tray down on the small table and pulled the chair closer to the cot. Slowly, carefully, she lowered herself onto it, her gaze never leaving her son's face.
"Come now, my love," she coaxed, forcing a note of cheerfulness into her tone. "You must keep up your strength. Just a few bites, that's all I ask."
Still nothing. James remained as still as a statue, his chest barely rising and falling with shallow breaths. Evelyn felt a wave of desperation wash over her. She couldn't bear to see him like this, wasting away before her very eyes.
With trembling hands, she reached for the bowl of porridge and spooned up a small amount. Leaning forward, she gently touched the spoon to James's lips, silently pleading for him to open his mouth, to show some sign that he was still present.
"Please, James," she whispered, her voice cracking. "You must eat something. For me, if not for yourself."
But James made no move to accept the offered food. His lips remained firmly closed, his gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the confines of the room. Evelyn's hand began to shake, causing a few drops of porridge to spill onto James's shirt.
In a sudden burst of frustration and despair, Evelyn pushed the spoon more forcefully against James's mouth. "Eat, damn you!" she cried, her composure finally cracking. "I won't watch you starve yourself to death!"
The porridge smeared across James's lips and chin, but still, he made no move to swallow or even acknowledge the intrusion. As Evelyn watched, a glob of the sticky substance slowly slid down his neck, leaving a trail on his once-pristine shirt.
The sight of her son, her beautiful boy, reduced to this helpless, unresponsive state was the final straw. The bowl clattered to the floor as Evelyn's shoulders began to shake with silent sobs. She fumbled in her pocket for a delicate lace handkerchief, using it to gently dab at the mess she had made of James's face and shirt.
"Oh, James," she moaned, her voice thick with tears. "What am I to do? How can I go on living if you remain like this? It's been days since... since it happened, and you've scarcely eaten a morsel. You're wasting away before my very eyes, and I... I can't bear it!"
As she cleaned his face with shaking hands, Evelyn's mind raced back to that fateful night. The sounds of struggle and muffled screams that had echoed through the manor's halls. The moment she had stumbled upon the aftermath, seeing the destruction James had wrought in his drunken, lust-fueled rampage.
"It's all my fault," she confessed, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I knew what was going on, I knew it was terribly wrong, but I... I did nothing. I told myself it was just youthful exuberance, that you needed to sow your wild oats before settling into your responsibilities."
Evelyn's hand cupped James's sunken cheek, her thumb brushing over the sharp angle of his cheekbone. "If only I had intervened, if I had put a stop to your excesses when I first noticed them... perhaps none of this would have happened. You wouldn't be here, locked away like some animal, tormented by the weight of your actions."
She searched his face desperately for some flicker of recognition, some sign that her words were penetrating the fog that seemed to have enveloped his mind. But James remained impassive, his gaze fixed and unfocused.
"Please, my darling," Evelyn pleaded, her voice dropping to a hoarse whisper. "If you must hate someone, hate me. Curse me for my failures as a mother, for not protecting you from yourself. But don't... don't punish yourself like this. Don't leave me, James. I couldn't bear to lose you."
Unable to contain her anguish any longer, Evelyn slid from the chair to kneel at James's feet. She laid her head in his lap, her tears soaking into the fabric of his trousers as deep, wracking sobs shook her slender frame.
"I'm so sorry, James," she wept, clinging to him as if her very life depended on it. "I'm sorry I failed you. I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to guide you away from this path. Please, please forgive me. Come back to us... come back to me."
As Evelyn poured out her heart, memories of James's childhood flashed through her mind. His first steps, tottering across the nursery floor with a look of fierce determination on his chubby face. The pride in his eyes when he mastered his first pony, sitting tall in the saddle as if he were born to it. The mischievous grin he would flash when caught in some harmless prank, always able to charm his way out of trouble.
Where had it all gone so terribly wrong? How had that bright, vivacious boy transformed into this broken shell of a man?
Evelyn's sobs gradually subsided, replaced by a bone-deep weariness that seemed to seep into every fibre of her being. She remained there, kneeling at James's feet, her head pillowed in his lap as she had done so many times when he was small and in need of comfort.
"Do you remember, my love," she murmured, her voice raw from crying.