The Criswell's Curse

Erwin stopped and so did Millicia. Murmurs grew louder, divergent opinions grew scarcer.

“You are one of His Grace’s maids!” It was only when Ophelia played her last card that everyone stood in utter silence. The words floating in the wind dissipated as a sharp blade forced souls to turn pathic, shocked by the sudden development of events.

All the eyes now focused on Alvin who had gone to Amanda’s side, caring for her unconscious self like a righteous father figure.

“What are you talking about, child? I have never seen that woman in my life!” The Duke frowned, faking the part of ignorant to utmost perfection. Some were fooled, however many suspicions still lingered - his part wasn’t enough to save him from these atrocious accusations.

Ophelia could feel the world around her becoming twisted, as if an illusionary mist had claimed her sight as its own. Her own energy was failing her.

“Her name is Millicia! She used to serve me tea...! I remember her!”

“Preposterous! How could you accuse your father of such... sinful deeds!? You are my beloved daughter!”

“No... it cannot be. Don’t tell me... my own father tried to...” Ophelia’s hands covered her mouth. Tears ran down her cheeks at a rapid pace. Her acting was far superior, far more believable than that man’s.

“Ophelia Criswell! Remember who raised you! You owe me!” And there it was, the cherry on top of the cake, the true greed of a man. Noticing he had lost his composure, Alvin softened his tone. “You know I care for you dear, I would never do such a thing.”

“Then explain it to me! How come she is here? Who else could’ve planned all of this!?” Ophelia’s words were like sharp daggers cutting through a corpse, swiftly aiming at the flaws of Alvin’s plan.

The Duke could see it. How everyone looked at him, their distasteful snorts, their judgmental comments. They all saw Ophelia like a pitiful maiden, a beautiful and innocent girl who had been betrayed by her own kin. Unless one’s heart was solely made of iron, anyone would feel for her.

But not everything had been a loss. The brat had drank the poison and there was no way she had a cure. He could see the sweat falling from her pores; her wavering body, slightly swinging from side to side; her bright, flushed cheeks. Some bright red stains were already possessing her figure, slowly appearing in faint dots moments before expanding into crimson pools.

Soon someone would see it, the many symptoms in her body as they quietly formed. It was far too late to brand this as a mistake, as a misunderstanding. Someone else needed to take the blame. Alvin’s importance far surpassed everyone’s else. He wouldn’t suffer the fall for this - he couldn’t.

Should I say someone hired her? His eyes glanced through the several nobles and aristocrats present but none suited the requirements. They were all needed as pawns for his plans - none were disposable. It was only when Amanda groaned in his arms that a new plan embraced his mind.

“I thought I had raised my children properly, but I was wrong. How could Amanda do such a thing?” His voice was serene as his fingers patted the crimson curls on the girl’s head. It appeared caring and thoughtful if he wasn’t accusing his own seed of planned murder. “I knew of her jealousy and did nothing to stop it... I never thought...!”

You really are the worst... Ophelia’s hopes crumbled down like a tower of cards.

She truly believed Alvin cared for Amanda, that even if he hated her, he truly loved her sister. And yet, he didn’t. That man had no heart, no soul in any vein, muscle, bone of his.

Glancing to the nobles, she realized her defeat. With Amanda’s previous actions, the Duke’s accusations weren’t far from a possible truth. That beast would leave this situation unshattered, as he always did, even if he had to sacrifice his own blood for it. Ophelia’s fists clenched, pulling the towel into her fingers. She despised Amanda, but she was still her sister.

“You...” She couldn’t finish her sentence. Ophelia’s strength left her body, causing her to fall back into Bradley’s chest.

His emerald eyes glimmered, his trembling hands held onto her. “You will be alright... don’t worry, I will...” Reassuring words who appeared to be hopeful, yet fearing of the worst.

He had been watching her, seeing her body grow weak, seeing her pitiful attempt to keep this atrocious charade. And now he was terrified, horrified that this was their last conversation, their last moment together.

“Are you alright, Ophelia!?” Mace dashed towards them, his voice nowhere near calm. Faintly, Terrel’s voice also rung in her ears, causing reality to strike.

Ophelia’s hand reached Bradley’s cheek, causing his runaway tear to fall straight into her face. “Keep Terrel... away...”

There was one person whose authority would match that monster’s - Bradley’s. Right now, among all these people, he was the only one who could protect her from that man’s lust.

When her hand fell down, they knew she had finally lost consciousness.

“Ophelia! Wake up!” Bradley immediately touched her moist face, feeling the high temperatures of her skin.

Big, bright red stains crawled over her body, asserting their domain over her fair skin. Even passed out, her breathing was rough as her pained expression displayed how much it hurt, how much she suffered.

Seeing the girl’s state, Mace’s voice yelled. “Someone call for a doctor!”

Gently, Bradley grabbed the rest of her figure, taking her into his embrace. Every time she groaned, he frowned. How could such a thing happen? Why didn’t he prevent it?

“Ophelia, are you...!” Terrel quickly stopped in his feet, his face distorted with disgust. “What happened to her skin!?”

Hearing the Wharton son’s comment, Bradley’s body stiffened. He was her fiancée. How could he treat her in such a manner?

Sensing the intense pressure, Terrel gulped. “Well... you take her, Mace. We should head back.”

He wouldn’t even touch her. As if she was a flaw, a used good which made his stomach twist, his desire to dissipate into thin air.

“Do you truly think I will let her go with the likes of you?” Bradley held Ophelia tighter in his arms, feeling the overwhelming heat emanating from her body. Her words were simple: keep Terrel away. And for once, he would follow her wishes.

“She’s my fiancée, Lord Bradley!” Terrel yelled before facing his brother. “Go grab her! And let’s go!”

“No.” Even fearful, Mace stood his ground. “If you want her so much, go get her yourself.”