Celeste felt her eyes flutter open to the soft weight of thick quilts draped over her. Though weak and sluggish, she tugged the heavy fabric aside to peer at the stab wound on her stomach.
It felt strangely numb ,no sharp sting, no pulsing heat, only a dull, distant throb beneath the skin.
She had felt the pain the wound last night, she as sure she had angry blood red line from the night before,
yet now it appeared closed now, the edges sealed and pale as if time had rushed forward in secret. Her brows knitted in quiet confusion as the door creaked open and a maid stepped inside.
“Excuse me, did Lady Muriel come in here?” Celeste muttered, throat parched and raw, each word scraping like dry sand against the tender lining of her mouth.
“No, the healer was never called for you.” The
