The Evil Ladies Form An Alliance

CHAPTER 2: First Meeting After Regression

Satomi's heart raced wildly, pounding as if trying to escape her chest. Panic gripped her as she struggled to piece together the events that had just unfolded. All she could remember were fragments. The piercing scream echoed in her ears, the blinding light that flooded her vision, and the thunderous crash of metal colliding, a cacophony that felt like it could shatter glass. After that, everything faded into an unsettling darkness.

In that void, she felt an overwhelming urge to cry out for help, to call out to someone, anyone, who could save her from the suffocating silence. But no one was there to hear her. The weight of her desperation pressed down on her, and despite her frantic attempts to scream, her voice felt trapped, as though it were sealed within her.

"Somebody, nurse, doctor, please save me," Satomi pleaded helplessly in her mind, her thoughts echoing louder than sound, but the cold reality was that no one could hear her silent cries. The feeling of isolation surged, intensifying the fear that enveloped her like a thick fog.

After what felt like an eternity of silence, she finally found her voice. With desperation in her heart, she shouted for help, her first word piercing through the stillness: "Help!" The echo of her plea filled the air, and she clung to the hope that someone would hear her call and rush to her side, ready to offer the assistance she so desperately needed.

“Rosette!”

A gentle, yet commanding voice, rich and deep, reached her ears. One she did not recognize. As the warmth of his hand enveloped hers, she struggled to focus, her vision still blurred and indistinct, preventing her from making out the features of the man beside her.

“Rosette!”

The surrounding air was thick with emotion, filled with the sound of soft sobs, predominantly from women scattered around the room. Yet, amidst the muffled cries, that deep voice resonated clearly, cutting through the confusion enveloping her mind.

"Rosette? Who is he calling?" She wondered, a sense of disorientation cascading through her.

Suddenly, a soft, melodic voice from a young woman, someone who was unmistakably not her stepsister, Kana interrupted the moment.

“Duchess!”

Duchess? What does that mean? She thought, her heart racing. The last thing she could clearly recall was sitting in a hospital room with Kana, their faces reflecting worry and fear. What is happening to me?

“Call the doctor immediately! My wife has opened her eyes!” The urgency in the man's plea heightened her heartbeat.

“Yes, Duke!” replied another voice, hurrying off as chaos swirled around her, leaving her mind reeling with questions and uncertainty.

"Wife? Who?" she wondered in her mind, a fog of confusion clouding her thoughts.

As her vision begins to sharpen, the features of the man before her come into focus. His lush emerald eyes are brimming with tears that are cascading down his cheeks, glistening like jewels against his skin. He appeared utterly heartbroken, the anguish in his expression mirroring the turmoil in his mind. His hands gripped hers tightly, as if afraid that if he would let go, she might slip away from him completely.

"Rosette," he whispers gently, his voice quivering as he delicately brushes his fingers against her face. The warmth of his touch contrasted with the chill that had settled in her body, and she could feel the tremors in his hand, a testament to his distress. Suddenly, a voice breaks through the moment.

"Duke, Doctor Elwing has arrived!"

With great reluctance, he releases her hand, allowing the doctor access to her. The doctor, a composed figure in a crisp white coat, kneels beside her and begins his examination. He checks her pulse, his fingers pressing against her wrist with expert precision, and then he carefully assesses her body temperature, noting the coolness of her skin. A sharp pain jolts through her head as the doctor places his hands gingerly on her forehead, his brow furrowed in concentration. Despite the surrounding commotion, she feels immobilized, unable to move even a single finger or respond to the sensations in her body. It’s as if her mind is caught in a strange, liminal space, unwilling or unable to communicate with her limbs. The sensation is eerily reminiscent of her previous experiences in a hospital bed, where urgency and fear hung heavy in the air. Even her voice, when she attempts to speak, remains trapped in her throat, silent and powerless.

"D-Doctor, how's my wife?" the man implores, his voice thick with worry and emotion, trembling like a fragile leaf in a storm.

The doctor looked up, his face a blend of concern and reassurance. "She is fine now, Duke. There’s nothing to worry about. However, due to the severe head injury she sustained from the fall, she may be experiencing shock from the incident." His words hang in the air, a mixture of relief and lingering anxiety, as the reality of her condition slowly begins to settle in.

"She has just opened her eyes, yet a puzzling aura of listlessness surrounds her as if all vitality has seeped away." The Duke leans closer, his brow furrowed and worry etched across his face, unable to hide the anxiety that laces his voice. "What could possibly be wrong?' he murmurs, concern deepening in his tone."

The Duchess's gaze drifts aimlessly around the room, as though the very act of seeing requires too much effort.

"Although she is awake, she is still grappling with profound trauma. The immediate danger to the duchess's life has passed, but I am deeply concerned that when she fully regains consciousness, she may experience memory loss."

"Memory loss?" the Duke exclaims, his voice low but filled with a potent mix of fear and anger. The tension in the room becomes electrified, and his eyes blaze like embers igniting a fire.

Doctor Elwing, sensing the volatility of the situation, flinches. His heart races within his chest like a caged bird desperate to escape. The Duke's expression was one of a fierce lion, poised and ready to strike at any moment, and he knew that he must tread carefully. "Let’s hope that this outcome can be avoided. If it does occur, I pray it will only be a temporary lapse," he manages to say, his voice quavering, betraying the confidence he wishes to convey, despite understanding that the duke's fury is not aimed at him.

The furious duke grits his teeth, his jaw tight with restrained rage. His hands clench into fists, their trembling a testament to his barely contained emotions. The atmosphere in the room grows heavy with apprehension. Every person present can feel the overwhelming tension that seems to hang in the air like a thick fog.

"Jacob!" he barks, his voice cutting through the silence like a crack of thunder.

Jacob, the knight stationed at a respectful distance, steps forward, his posture formal and deferential as he bows his head. He keeps his gaze directed at the floor, careful to avoid the duke's piercing glare. "Yes, my lord!" he replies, his voice steady but laced with a thrill of anxiety, as he holds his breath, bracing himself for what may unfold next.

"Bring every last one of those surviving assassins who dared lay a hand on my wife to me," the Duke's voice thundered. "And those who perished, hang their bodies in the plaza as a grim warning to anyone foolish enough to challenge the House of Wildenburdg."

Jacod, his ever-loyal assistant, hesitated, his voice trembling as he tried to intercede. "Duke, those survivors are still being interrogated..."

"I don’t care!" The Duke's roar cut through the air, so fierce it silenced the room for an instant. His fury was palpable, causing even the stone-hearted Jacob Arston to shudder. "Those bastards will pay for what they did. I’ll sever their heads myself and put them on display for all to see!"

"I’ll notify Sir Aiden right away, Your Grace," Jacod replied hastily, bowing deeply before exiting to carry out the orders.

A heavy silence hung in the room as the Duke's rage reverberated in the air. Satomi, lying in bed, listened in horror to his words. Her chest rose and fell in sharp, panicked breaths as her eyes filled with tears, trembling under the weight of the Duke's wrath. Seeing her fear, the Duke’s fury softened. His voice, once a roaring tempest, now gentled to a whisper as he turned his attention to his wife. Leaning over her, his hand trembled as he gently brushed her damp cheeks, pressing a kiss to her tear-streaked eyes.

"I’m sorry, my love. Did I scare you?" he murmured, his heart aching at the sight of her fear.

His anger, which had burned with such fire, seemed to melt away in her presence. "I was just so furious with those who dared hurt you. Please, don’t be afraid. I will protect you, always."

His tone, so tender and filled with devotion, was a stark contrast to the fierce warrior he had been just moments before. Taking her pale, trembling hands in his, he kissed them softly, as if to promise that no harm would ever touch her again.