THE DUTCHESS OF WHINGSIRE

CHAPTER2

Her tears fell freely, forming a pool around her. The pain in her heart seemed more vivid and way more painful than the bruises on her skin. Why does this always happen? Every time she starts to feel like life is worth living, that things can change, like she can finally escape the shadows, something bad happens. It happened then and it's happening now.

Her mind was overrun by images from the past. They seemed to overlap with the present, forming a truly gruesome image, filled with pain and devastation. The voices and chaos rang in her head anew. She held her head in her hands as she started to shake in a creepy, almost psychotic manner. At first the pain was imaginary, yet real, but eventually it became real. Her nose began to bleed profusely, blood mixing with the pool of tears that had already surrounded her. Her foggy, drowned mind cleared up enough for her to panic. "No, not again." she complained as she sat up slowly, trying her best, and failing, to stop the blood flow with the hem of her dress, which she ripped off. She stood up slowly and walked to the other end of her room with trembling steps, her voice echoing through the silence: "Pills. The pills... I need some pills". She wrecked her small drawer searching for her pills. Her hands shook horribly and with each passing second she could feel herself slipping over the thin dividing line of sanity and madness. The memories were becoming more real than the cloth she grasped in her hands. After a while, her legs gave way, but she didn't stop searching, she couldn't afford to.

There it was in a small inconspicuous bottle, her relief was clear even though her head wasn't. She immediately swallowed four pills, two more than her regular dosage, but she could feel herself sinking into madness. This was clearly a dire situation that called for immediate stabilization. The pills worked fast. Her mental state stabilized quickly and the intensive bleeding seized, those heart-wrenching memories slowly fading into the background. But unfortunately, a few pills can't take away real sorrow. She sat on her bed, put her head in her hands and sobbed. She had not lied to Camille. In the deep of the night, when nothing distracted from her thoughts, she really did feel like ending it all. Would it be better that way? Maybe. But no, she raised her head from her bloody hands and stared out the window, at the moon shining bright in the sky. It had fought its battle against the dark clouds and come out victorious (albeit with bad timing), so how could she fail? How could she die? There was still so much left to do. She wasn't thinking of leaving Yuri behind, was she? A smile donned her lips, one that seemed to tell many stories—stories of pain, regret, betrayal, but most especially determination. "I won't fail," her voice was grating and her throat raw, but she said the words with utmost conviction.

She cleaned up thoroughly before going to bed. Yes, she was tired, but the thought of waking up to see that pool of blood and tears shook her.

Even as she dosed off she couldn't forget the sorrow a new day would surely bring. Would Camille really tell her parents? If she did, what punishment would she face? Would she be burnt at the stake? Or worse? Is there anything worse? Yes, indeed, such sweet thoughts to tide her over to dream world.

"Demon!!!" someone yelled.

"Monster?" a childish voice cooed in the background.

"How could you?!!!" a woman sobbed, while holding onto something that looked a lot like a human body.

"Stay away from me, you... you WITCH!!!" the people she once considered friends and family turned their backs on her.

Sherry woke up with a jolt, her heart pounding so hard in her rib cage she was sure it wanted to fly away. Her bed was soaked by sweat and her head ached, one pill down the hatchet to reduce the pain. Sleep had never been her friend, it pulled her into a world of nightmares where she had no control. She had never been sleep's friend, it pulled her into a world of nightmares where she had no control, and she, for one, would like some control, she was already powerless enough in the waking world.

She took a cold shower, though the weather was already freezing. Who had the time to get into an argument about wasting firewood? You know the one she gathered. As a rule, she had to be up before anyone else to attend to all the house chores, so, yes, the sky was still pitch black when she started working. It's not like she couldn't work during the day, or at least later in the morning, but that would be too hard on her already awful mental state. Just imagining her mother's scrutinizing gaze on her body as she worked made her feel faint.

She immediately threw herself into work, it was a good thing she had amazing night vision, or she would have been prosecuted for wasting candle wax. Firstly, she started with a general cleaning. Everything had to sparkle. It took her a little more than two hours to finish cleaning. Though she called the cottage small, it was actually quite big with two levels. The bedrooms and bathroom were on the second level while the living room and kitchen were on the ground level. After cleaning, she gathered firewood and started a nice warm fire in the fireplace. The heat seemed to warm up both her body and heart, but this wasn't the time to soak in the warmth. This was unfortunately, time to work. She prepared bathing water for everyone using the fire. 'They get to take a warm bath,' she thought enviously. After all these chores, there was just one last thing to do before she could make breakfast and finally catch her breathe, topping up their water reserves and ensuring it didn't freeze over. Well, she didn't really need to start checking for frost yet. The weather was cold but not that cold. She hauled a giant bucket down the mountain to the nearest stream to fetch water. Though it was considered the nearest, it was actually quite far off. Worst of all, she had to make three trips to fill one drum reserve of water. They had three drums by the time she finished, the day would be bright. Life~

Sherry skipped happily and quietly up the steps. She had finished her tasks for the morning now she could rest. She walked past her parents' room and Camille's room, only to walk back. Camille's door was slightly ajar and light sobbing could be heard. She peaked through the gap cautiously, her heart beat speeding up, she was sure whatever she saw would cause her pain, and she was right. Camille sat at her dresser, hair styled in a plain bun, her hand caressed a framed photo as sobs escaped from her throat and tears slid down her cheeks. Sherry pulled away like she'd been burned, blinking back tears, she walked away silently. She knew who was in that photo. The tears still fell slowly but surely.

Camille wiped the tears from her cheeks. She stared at the photo with eyes full of affection. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice quivering. "I have made my decision." She dropped the picture upside down and walked to the bathroom.

Breakfast was as suffocating as usual, with her mom at the head of the table and her dad at the end. She glanced at the three empty seats with empty eyes. She was used to it now, but her heart still hurt a little. She hated the way they had to act like everything was normal, like nothing changed. All to protect her mother's pride, she snuck a glance at her and immediately got caught. "What's wrong, Camille? Is the food not to your liking?" Rosaline asked in a "concerned" tone that was so cold and fake that even a deaf person would shiver in disgust. Camille flinched. "Of course it is, I was just a little lost in thought," being prey to her mother's predator-like gaze was always the worst. "Let's continue eating. No talking at the table," her father said, taking the heat off her. The silence that followed was so heart-wrenching Camille felt like crying. What she hated the most about everything in this fake life they were leading was sitting at this table and having a "normal" meal. To be honest, she always felt like Sherolanda had it good in this regard, but the demon had no idea what she was missing.

Sherry sat on her bed listening to the dull thud of wooden spoons against wooden bowls. She wished she could be among them in her designated seat, but she would never have that chance again. This was their only chance to sit down and talk like a normal family. She couldn't take that away from them. A thought struck her: Would Camille use this chance to bring up the poison refining? No way!! What could she do? It's not like she had to stay here and wait for her death, right? She started to pace the room. Her eyes scanning her room for any way to survive, eventually landing on the window. Maybe just till things calm down?

After breakfast, Camille carried the plates to the kitchen and dumped them in the sink. Washing was Sherolanda's job. "Mother, I have something to show you," she called out to Rosaline, whose nose was deep in a book. 'Probably the Ancient Art of Torturing Your Family,' Camille thought mockingly, but unfortunately, she didn't get to think for much longer before that predatory gaze washed over her once more, all mocking thoughts immediately flew out of her head. "What is it?"

"I'm sorry," she whispered one last time to the person in the picture before she brought down the cauldron, which she had hidden in the roof. She knew she was signing Sherolanda's death certificate (if she'd even be given one), but she couldn't stop herself. She had made her decision, she would stay on this path of hatred till she died. Which, if she was lucky, would be sooner rather than later.

Rosaline's eyes widened in shock when Camille came down with the cauldron. Hands shaking, she took it from Camille. "Where did you get this?!!" Though it was small that didn't reduce its great worth, she gave Camille a judgmental look. 'Did she steal it?' she thought. She opened the cauldron curiously only to see a book inside. Even more curious, she brought it out. The words on the cover seemed to slap her hard across the face."POISON?!!" Her hands trembled intensely, her shocked expression morphed into something horrifying. Before Camille could even explain, Rosaline had already raised her hand to hit her. Her father thankfully came between them, saving Camille's pretty face. She let out a sigh of relief. "How dare you bring something so evil into my house, you b***h!!!" she yelled in anger. Her father, Hank, tried to calm her down "Rosa let the child explain herself. Please!". Camille took a deep breath, her body shaking like a leaf. "Mother, it's not mine!!! I didn't bring it into our home!!! Please don't blame me, mother!!" Seeing Camille in this state, Rosaline calmed down, "Then who brought it?" she asked as she stared at Hank suspiciously. Camille took another deep breath, "It was Sherolanda." She really was sorry.