16| A Strange Scar
"A few humans said she is a blood relation of the woman. Her niece. Though I am uncertain their blood relations matter at this point, especially when that girl was ingesting that potion," Lord Fashire grumbled. "That aside, I found no other family member in the village, but I went through the supposed Aunt's dwelling. It was desolate, and it had been like that for a while."
Lord Lorn cursed under his breath and I stiffened. Why did he not tell Lord Lorn about my father? But if the other Lords looked into the village, they were bound to find him regardless.
"This is vexing," Lord Lorn hissed.
With an air of carefree nonchalance, Lord Fashire replied, "In that case, I must take my leave."
"What?!"
Lord Fashire chuckled. "I am returning to my lab on this realm. We will need to source out the ingredients for this strange concoction, and I won't entrust this to anyone. In addition, I intend to unravel whatever secrets the little one holds within her body."
My stomach tightened at the mention of a lab and experiments. Lord Fashire, a scientist?
He had a laboratory?
A dizzying wave of disorientation made me tremble.
'No. No. No. No.'
I didn't want to be a test subject.
Footsteps, growing louder with each passing moment, urged me into action. I dashed forward, scrambling blindly in the dark. My hand splayed across the narrow walls of the corridor and I slowed down, my heart hammering in my chest as I moved, dreading for the door behind me to open. The footsteps had drawn close.
Too close.
I stopped to stifle the sobs that racked my body. Squeezing my eyes shut, I pressed myself flat against the wall. Terrified.
I had to—
'Escape. Really?'
What was I even thinking? That was impossible.
Tears streaked down my cheeks, paving a burning path that kept flowing. I couldn't leave. Not now. Not ever. Not with my father so defenseless. And my aunt. What had happened? Where was she? It hadn't been that long since I visited her for the potions. How could she have disapeared?
I was aware saving her own skin wasn't out of character, but didn't she want something from me?
I quivered as I wondered if this had been a trap all along. But that would mean jeopardizing her potions. Would anyone do that or was there something else I wasn't seeing?
My head throbbed as I contemplated the situation. Who was my aunt, truly? And what was she?
The door handle rattled, and I jolted forward, colliding face first with an obstacle. My hand instinctively reached out in the dark to touch a wooden surface. A door. Fumbling, I found the knob and twisted it open.
The room beyond flooded with light as I swung the door wide. Raised voices clamoured behind me. I dashed inside the room and slammed the door shut behind me.
The voices stopped and my weak legs caused me to sink to the floor.
It was a circular, enclosed chamber, much like Lord Fashire's room. My eyes took in the closed transparent cylindrical compartment housing a commode and a silver sink, along with a mirror. Taps adorned the sink and bathtub. A luxury I had never encountered in our quarters or the village, where the water came directly from the well.
In my dishevelled state, I noticed the grime and sweat that soiled my clothes and clung to my skin. The overwhelming desire to shed my filthy exterior consumed me. I spotted a stack of towels on a small slab fixed to the wall.
Then I dragged myself to the sink and looked in the mirror. I was a mess.
My eyes were bloodshot from crying, and my once tamed curls had transformed into a wild, matted tangle. Dark circles marred the skin beneath my eyes, and my sweat drenched face appeared haggard.
Staring at my reflection for too long made me realize that the dark grime on my skin and dress was dried blood. My attention then shifted to my bloodied shoulder, and a wince escaped me. It was as if the pain returned the moment I remembered I was injured. It resurged, throbbing and radiating down my arm. I had neglected the wound for far too long. It hurt to even move, but I had to clean it.
My hands lightly trembled as I touched the sink and twisted the tap. Clear water trickled out, and I quickly turned it off, mindful of the dirtied handprint I had left on the handle. I turned the tap on again, rinsing my useful hand and using it to wipe away the grime I left behind on the sink.
I started by rinsing my arms and after a momentary pause at my shoulder, I scooped the pouring water and splashed it directly on my wound. I shuddered as the throbbing transformed into a sharp stabbing pain. I whimpered and clutched the edge of the sink with my weak arm, continuously scooping water to rinse off the blood. I no longer cared if I dirtied the floor. I was going to die anyway so what difference would bloody stains make?
I chuckled, my short laughter coming out in shuddering gasps as my eyes watered. A bitter and hollow sound. I closed my eyes tightly, fighting off encroaching nausea. As much as I could delude myself, the truth was evident. I was utterly powerless.
I straightened and faced my sorry reflection once more when something I noticed made me go still.
I blinked, my tear-streaked face reflected back at me in the well-lit mirror. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. It had to be some cruel trick my eyes were playing on me.
I slowly leaned closer while rubbing my eyes in disbelief, hoping that this hallucination would fade away.
The once-gaping wound on my shoulder was now covered by a scar. It was a messy and ugly reddish-brown smear against my dark skin. I tentatively ran my fingers over the scar's surface, and I flinched.
The pain was still there despite the visual contradiction.
Confusion crippled my mind.
What was happening?
No wound heals this fast, especially one this severe.
I doubt the potion could even have done this.