“The… tea?” I repeated, voice small and lost. The room spun again, my knees wobbled. I pressed a hand to my temple. “W-why are you asking me that? Sylum… what’s in the tea?”
He took a slow step forward.
I took one back.
My voice cracked, raw, terrified, and desperate. “Don’t touch me!”
His face contorted in the moonlight, the shadow splitting him into two silhouettes for a heartbeat. Two versions of him standing in the same skin.
I blinked, shaking my head.
He held out his hand. “Lucy… you’re not well. You must calm yourself.”
“No,” I cried, staggering sideways. “No, you made me think I was mad. You… you all did. I was right. I was right all along.” I pressed my hands to the sides of my head, nails curling into my scalp. “The tea… Sylum, theteaispoisoned, isn’t it?!”
His expression twitched.
Not with guilt.
With irritation… perhaps something almost akin to amusement.
“You’re unwell,” he repeated, making my mind spin.
I choked on a sob. “You’re trying to kill me.”
His smile was soft. Wrong.
“Lucy… come here.”
I shook my head violently. “No—no, stay away—”
My vision doubled, a veil of black creeping in from the corners. The walls seemed to melt around me and my knees buckled. The room spun faster and faster as I collapsed to the floor.
Poe’s muffled cry pierced the thick wood of the door. “Two shadows! Two shadows! One bone!”
A warm hand brushed my cheek. A silhouette bent close. Broad shoulders, familiar scent, and breath warm against my skin.
“My poor, sweet Lucy,” he murmured, voice trembling with something feverishly hungry. “So full of fantastic terror. I can hear your heart beating… and itthrillsme—”
His words cut off abruptly as he straightened suddenly. His head snapped toward the door, a muttered curse seething from his lips.
Heavy footsteps sounded in the hall.
Poe’s panicked shrieks carried through the door once more. “My Lenore!”
Sylum rose swiftly, crossing the room in two strides. My sluggish gaze followed him as he slipped behind a large armoire draped in white linen. The drape fluttered once before settling.
The room bled sideways again. A black fog pressed in around my eyes. I squeezed them shut, fighting the pull of unconsciousness… of whatever had been done to me.
The door burst open, swinging wide as someone stepped inside. Poe swooped in behind them, screeching as he dove around the room wildly.
“Good heavens!” Mrs. Ashby, clad in her robe and carrying a small lantern, knelt beside me, setting the lantern aside before gently cradling my head in her lap.
“Your Grace!” She bellowed over her shoulder, her voice directed toward the door. “She’s in here!”
Moments passed, as she murmured soothing words I couldn’t quite make out, before another set of footsteps sounded beyond the door.
Sylum appeared in the doorway—breathless, wide-eyed, hair askew, and coat gone, white shirt half-unbuttoned as though he had dressed in haste. Panic carved deep lines into his face the instant his gaze landed on me sprawled on the floor.
