The Criswell's Curse

The environment grew tense. Terrel couldn’t touch her, she was ill, sickly. How could he bulk the courage to touch something so... disgusting?

“Please take her into one of our rooms upstairs... let her rest here for the time being.” The Earl intervened, causing Terrel to promptly leave. “Erwin, show them the way.”

As they left towards the mansion, one of Catherine’s servants followed them quietly. Little did they knew, a single leaf was the antidote for the Duke’s poison.

Patricia’s skin was pale as a ghost. Amanda was a murderer, cold-hearted enough to kill her sister in a public event. Everyone saw it. The knife pointed at the poor girl’s neck, the blobs of red in her skin courtesy of the potent poison roaming through her veins. If she was capable of such things, weren’t Ophelia’s actions truly justified? How much had she suffered at the hands of this crimson demon?

Holly glanced at her friend, her arms trembling slightly. It could’ve been them, the ones suffering that atrocious reality.

“We have summoned the guards, milord.” The head maid calmly approached Devlin, her frail figure bobbing her head slightly.

Time wasn’t at their side. The girl needed to talk before the peacekeepers arrived or everyone would be bought out, twisting their stories to fit the Duke’s needs.

“Why did you poison Lady Ophelia?”

Millicia was kneeling down, her body tied strongly with a thick rope. “I needed the money.”

“Who paid you?” Firm pressure accompanied the Earl’s questions, enough to make every bystander gulp in a pure state of anxiousness.

The maid grew quiet. She knew she couldn’t speak. Duke Criswell wouldn’t help her and, if she brought any more suspicious onto that man, their deal would be as good as dead.

Truthfully, she never intended to murder Ophelia, but she had no choice. Her younger brother was severely ill, and the money was too scarce. Medicine was far too expensive for a commoner such as herself to gain. The deal was simple. She would take someone else’s life to allow her own blood to live. And she took it.

“I will ask you one last time. If you do not comply, it will be extremely painful for you.” Devlin’s eyes were like a pool of mud in the Frosting, ready to swallow its prey whole.

But she couldn’t speak. Even if they tortured her, abused her. She simply couldn’t. All it mattered was the survival of her brother.

After several minutes of silence, the Earl’s voice rung again. “Have it your way. Take her away! Do whatever it takes to make her speak the truth.”

His words were set in stone, causing her body to emanate its horror. She thought herself to be ready for this, but reality was nowhere near her assumptions. Her frail arms trembled heavily as tears dripped to the grass, wetting it.

She needed to save her brother, but at what cost? Millicia didn’t wish to die, to disappear like the sun on the horizon, never to rise again. What would happen to her brother? Her parents passed away years ago, a year after his birth and yet, she raised him, cared for him. They survived on whatever they could attain, leftover or spoiled food, shelters in empty houses filled with mold.

Her life was never a fairy tale. Millicia wasn’t like them, these noble ladies who were born without suffering, without working for their own survival. They had everything, and she had nothing.

That’s the only way... isn’t it...? To survive, a sacrifice needed to be made - that’s how it was for her, for common folk.

Two male servants grabbed her arms, forcing her to rise back on her feet. Her resolute eyes glared at the Earl, who quickly understood her plan.

“Stop her!” He yelled, but it was already too late.

Millicia’s tongue was out of her mouth when her upper jaw carved its teeth into it. Blood squirted out, forcing her eyes to close as she groaned in pain, adrenaline rushing through her veins. And again, she bit down on her own flesh, causing it to fall onto the grass, twitching slightly as it greeted death. The servant’s eyes widened as their torso became stained by the overwhelming blood expelling from her open wound.

Reactively, she coughed out red, tainting the Earl’s attire with bloodstains. When she smiled, weakly yet proudly, displaying the vivid crimson mouth with her freshly cut out tongue, his soul became petrified. This was her plan, the only way to avoid torture, to avoid speaking the truth.

As this succeeded, Patricia’s stomach had enough. Almost immediately, it threw away every single thing she had eaten that day, straight onto the ground, yet no one cared. Everyone’s eyes focused on the maid, who had just displayed the greatest height of loyalty to another. The men were disgusted; the ladies paled. And yet - not one soul could stop watching. It was far too amusing, too unique, too unrealistic.

“Milady, we should head inside...” A young maid serving Patricia approached her, placing her hand on her waist.

Today was supposed to be her day, the only occasion she had to make Bradley interested in her. Why did this happen? How come her dream was so easily shattered by such evil schemes? With tears in the corner of her eyes, she left towards the mansion.

Frustrated, Devlin slapped her right cheek harshly, forcing more blood to pour out. Millicia’s sight connected with Alvin’s, who looked quite horrified. She smiled yet again.

Her brother was safe. She was safe. Only some maids and butlers knew how to read or write, and she wasn’t one of them. No matter what they did, she couldn’t speak, so the truth would be buried with her.

Now Millicia would try to survive, perhaps attempt to become a farmer in a faraway land, in a faraway future but, if those weren’t God’s plans for her, and execution was all that remained, then she would gracefully receive it as an atonement for her sins.

“Filthy!” The heavy silence in the air broke, being shaken by Holly’s high-pitched voice. The shock had revealed her true colors.

Even then, no one cared. All they wanted to see was the maid’s figure, the pain and the misery - the tragedy inside the comedy.

Catherine chuckled behind the bright red fan that hid her lips. To her, this scenario was pure entertainment, pure amusement. She never considered Ophelia would drink the poison herself. She was truly... something else.

Her flushed face and rushing heart showed how thirsty she was for that child, for that curse. She wished to see more, more of this theatrical play where everyone was her pawns, where she was king.

By Erwin’s command, the servants dropped Millicia to her knees, causing the fabric of her skirt to become tainted by her own fluids. A steady stream of blood poured out of her mouth, mimicking a long river of drool. Feeling the numbness from the pain and heavy loss, Millicia’s soul was lost, forcing her to pass out on the crimson tainted grass.

“What are you all doing!? Get a doctor right now!” Mace intervened, dashing towards the woman laying on the ground.

Millicia was a sinner, but he needed her alive. Even without a tongue, she could learn how to write and finally tell the truth. She was an important chess piece to deal with the Criswell’s tyranny and greed.

“Why should I bother helping a murderer?” Devlin answered sarcastically.

So short-sighted... that’s why you won’t be anything more than a mere Earl. Mace thought, shifting his attention to the remaining nobles who simply gossiped. None invested in helping the girl in his arms. They only care about themselves...

He knew how this disgusting society worked, filled with sinners compelled by greed, lust, and lack of humanity. But he knew he couldn’t reprimand them too much, as deep down, he knew he was no different.