“I know.” Florence nodded, taking her cloak off. “But it will be all right.” She took a wine bottle out of her satchel. “We will figure it out.” She smiled at me, offering me the bottle. “But no matter what happens, you must stay strong.” She forced the bottle into my hands.
The sweet aroma reached my senses, spinning my head into frenzy. I eyed the drink as the beast within me rebelled.
“You must have some,” Florence’s voice softened.
“I cannot,” a whisper escaped me; my eyes were locked on the bewitched drink. “I cannot.”
“You must.” Florence brought the bottle near my lips.
“I haven’t had human blood since...” I swallowed the lump quickly growing in my throat. “I can’t.” I pushed the bottle away as the memory of Sandra’s limp body underneath mine invaded my peace.
“You must.” Florence’s lips stretched into a sad smile; her hand enveloped mine in a strong hold. “You must be strong to rescue Francis,” she said, giving my hand a squeeze. “Do it for him.”
I shook my head as the open bottle hypnotized my strong will. “What if this blood makes me mad,” I swallowed, searching Florence’s eyes “What if I hurt someone.” My hands reluctantly reached for the bottle.
“I am the only one in this room, you can’t hurt me,” Florence reassured. “And I would never let you hurt anyone.” She nodded at the drink in my hands. “I swear it to you.”
I brought the neck of the bottle to my lips. The beast in me was eager to feast as it imprisoned my mind in its hard grip, silencing every rational thought.
The first drop fell into my mouth, burning on my tongue. The unfamiliar taste turned my stomach upside down, yet the beast cared not for the crimson’s owner, cared not for their well-being.
I drank the blood as it soothed my scraping throat, filling my empty stomach. Despite my best wishes to protest—the drink had brought strength to my weakened mind. The drink had brought clarity to my clouded thoughts.
The sour taste had brought peace to the beast, calming its furious waves.
“Better?” Florence took the empty bottle from my hands, a soft smile stretching her lips.
“Yes,” I admitted. “Thank you, Florence.”
“We will get Francis back.” She nodded, giving my hands a squeeze before letting go. “We will, I promise.”
I managed a weak nod at her reassurance, yet a small—treacherous—part of me could not believe her words.
“This used to be your room?” Florence got up from the settee, walking towards the drawers filled with jewelry that I’d never worn.
“When I had to stay here overnight.” I nodded. “Yes.”
Florence’s fingers brushed over the golden necklace. “These are gorgeous,” she marveled at the stones.
“Timothy used to get them for me every time after he...” I swallowed, meeting her gaze. “Every time after he assaulted me.” I’d said the words out loud for the first time in my life.
Florence dropped the bracelets as though they were fire, taking her seat beside me; her head dropped on my shoulder. “You killed him.” She stated, as though that was the answer to everything.
“I did,” my voice did not belong to me as the memory of his limp, empty body laying in the crimson snow flew through my mind; the thought of his empty eyes staring out in the distance calmed me. “I killed him.” The words brought peace to the part of me I’d carried as shadows for so long.
“Good.” Florence nodded: approval rang in her voice. “The Moon will refuse his soul for what he did.”
“I don’t think he had a soul,” I chuckled, though it sounded more like a choke.
A corner of Florence’ lip rose as she got up from the settee. “Let’s get some rest,” she sighed. “I fear tomorrow will be long,” she added, as an odd feeling of dread spread through my veins, and that feeling was soon validated, for the moment the sun had set, the banging on our door broke free.
