The Criswell's Curse

Several days later, the news had reached the Criswell’s estate. Amanda had received a letter from Ophelia, that insipid snake of a woman who hoped for her attendance at the Hillgarden’s estate.

“Father!” Amanda yelled after bursting into the Duke’s study room, yet again. “She’s having a tea party! You cannot allow this!”

Alvin jumped from his chair, dropping a pile of books on the floor. He had fallen asleep while working. His drowsy eyes tried their best to adjust to his surroundings as quickly as possible.

“What is the meaning of this!?” His daughter yelled, slamming the crumbled letter onto his desk. “Father!”

“I know, Amanda...” He sighed, causing the girl’s cheeks to become red.

“You said you’d deal with her! And yet, she’s throwing parties and inviting everyone!” Amanda’s knuckles punched the table loudly, muscles as tense as rocks, clearly frustrated with the outcome of the situation. “She hasn’t even debuted yet!”

“Watch your tone, young lady.” He glared at her, knowing full well her feelings were about to escalate into something far bigger pretty soon.

Amanda swallowed all her remaining rage as an icy shiver flew down her spine. She could tell her tantrum had gone far enough. Her father’s reaction was living proof.

“Forgive me, Father... but what should we do?”

“The party is in a couple of days and we cannot stop it.” As he sat straight in his chair, his hand began massaging his forehead. “You need to be as magnanimous as you can, Amanda. No one can outshine you.”

Her father’s reaction did not please her, but she knew better. Right now, no one could do anything. Duke Wharton was the only one who could prevent such an event from happening, but she couldn’t show her face there without appearing hypocritical. She couldn’t beg him to prevent this from happening, that man was far too resolute, and her pride laid far too high. It was too shameful, even for her.

Annoyed, the young girl grabbed the letter and threw it on the floor, stepping on it with all her might. She glanced at Lanna with a haughty glare. “Clean this up.”

As his daughter left the room, followed by her maid moments later, Alvin’s preoccupation grew. The situation seemed to have become far more complex than what he had originally envisioned.

“She’s here, Your Grace.” A butler entered, head hanging low.

A slim woman hid beneath a large dark hood - its shadow concealing her face perfectly. Even then, one could assess she was a maid as she promptly kneeled on the floor, gracefully - appearing as if she had served another for millennia. Her stature was rather small, causing some gaps on her cape to display part of her orange-colored dress - chic yet utterly ordinary. Too common to be a noble, yet too expensive to belong to a commoner.

“Is it done?” He asked once the servant closed the door.

“Not yet, Your Grace. Gilbert was punished severely.” Surprisingly, her voice was rather sweet. A sense rather ironic since the woman hid two - if not more - perfect facades. “He is still recovering.”

“Do you think she knows?” The timing of these events was far too convenient. From all the servants, the assassin he had hired was the chosen one, as if God was aiding his youngest with its trickery.

Some might believe in fate, others in destiny, or even luck. Alvin didn’t believe in anything but his own catalyst. The world was like a gigantic domino in his eyes; one simply needed to find the right incentive, the right piece to create an unstoppable - yet predictable - chain reaction. Nothing was unattainable if one could learn how to meddle with the actions of the world, with the consequences provided by God.

“If I may...” The woman peeked upward, forcing the hood to slightly open. A white mask adorned with pearls appeared, shining against the faint blaze from the candles in the room. Even from how little it showed, Alvin could see beautifully crafted lines painted through it - almost mimicking a face. “I witnessed it and, in my humble opinion, I would say it was simply an unlucky coincidence.”

Her rather seductive words flowed through the room, explaining how Gilbert had placed Ophelia’s wrath on him after his small display of disrespect. Everyone knew nobles were people from angels, people with the right type of blood. One of the lower ones could never show their lack of faith or the fury of Divinity would fall upon the defiant of truth.

“I see...”

Even though he heard everything the spy had to say, an uneasiness still lingered in his soul. Something wasn’t right; something was severely wrong. He could sense a piece of the domino missing, a crucial element that would end up with all the consequences he had so carefully planned. Yet, he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“What about the slave? What is your judgement?” The Duke got up from his chair and peeked through the curtains, observing the busy servants running around the garden with piles of washed sheets and baskets filled with fresh ingredients.

“I don’t think there is a need for concern, Your Grace. Slaves can easily be bought, especially the ones that came from the mountains.”

Alvin nodded. Gold was the only thing that forced the world to rotate, the commerce to exist. There was nothing that couldn’t be purchased with gold - something that brat didn’t have.

“Can you poison her?”

The woman shook her head, forcing him to frown. He already knew it was a risky move, and yet he was being reckless, far too greedy. “There are too many risks, Your Grace.”

This suggestion didn’t sound like something he would consider at all. A stinging headache formed as he realized his judgement was being clouded by frustration, despair and rage. He knew poisoning Ophelia was too much of a liability, as the outcome wasn’t predictable. He’d seen it countless of times.

What if Ophelia didn’t consume the poison, and gave it to a maid instead? If that were to happen, Duke Wharton would begin an investigation, closing any opportunities to approach her for the longest time.

What if Terrel had people working under him in the mansion? If Ophelia were to die in such a mysterious way, he wouldn’t spare any means to find the culprit behind it. She was his precious doll, after all.

What if she did consume the poison on the Wharton’s estate? The peace between the two houses would easily crumble and, if it didn’t, people would judge, label Alvin as the cold-hearted man who let the murderer wander free.

“Alright... keep me informed.”

The woman quickly rose and leaned her torso forward. The butler, who had remained silent in the room’s corner, opened the door, allowing the guest to leave.

Ophelia... how did you grow up to be like this? At this thought, his hands pushed all the papers on the desk onto the floor, causing them to shatter a cup that rested at the end of the table. His eyes widened, as a unique idea had been created in his twisted little mind.

The tea party. That was the piece he needed to place into the domino, an extra element that would prove extremely beneficial. A grin popped on his lips, forcing his butler to promptly close the door after leaving.

That was it. The end of his headaches would happen at a social theater. This would be the last act of Ophelia Criswell.