To His Hell and Back-Chapter 412: A Murder In The Open-II
Arabella smiled at the crease between his brows. Cassius had not been born gentle; the court and a hard childhood had taught him that pity was a blade that cut the holder. He had learned to survive by hardening, to trade mercy for advantage.
And yet, day by day, she watched something in him ease. His words came softer now; his rare smiles lasted a fraction longer. Even after he had executed three men the day before for trading children on the black market, there was a new, unsettling thread of mercy in him, a humane restraint that had not been there before.
He shrugged off the change when she mentioned it, but everyone at court had noticed: servants lingered a little longer, officers answered him with less fear, and whispers of approval followed his name. Cruelty still lived in him like an old habit, but it no longer defined every motion. He could still strike without remorse, yet he could also lean close to a wounded man and say something that felt like comfort.
"They’re more desperate today," Arabella murmured, tucking her chin into her palm. "They want Isabelle to do it. Morpheus truly intends to kill me."
"He has lost his mind," Cassius replied without looking up. "He calls you a key to undo the sorcerers’ curse, yet he treats you like a match to be struck and discarded."
She let out a soft, uneven breath. "I don’t think it’s pure rage. I can’t prove it, but every time he harms me, it’s as if he is testing whether my life can be traded for release."
"But your bloodline is supposed to break the curse," Cassius said. "What makes you think killing you would free them rather than end the possibility?"
Arabella watched the wind lift a stray ribbon from her red hair and disliked the way the ribbon trembled. "No proof," she admitted, "only a pattern. He hurts me in ways that feel like preparation, too deliberate to be mere cruelty."
Though she didn’t voice it out loud, she was also curious of the reason why all these murder incidents were done so sloppy.
Curses object takes time for it to work and most often then not in a room full of sorcerers, someone would find out that she’s cursed sooner or later before the curse take place.
That means that though the voodoo doll curse was dangerous and could kill, she could have saved herself in time.
So far all she had heard about Wendy was how good of a sorceress she was, how clever, how malicious she could be as well. For someone like her to choose such a roundabout way of killing... something felt off.
Were their plan not to kill her? Just to "seem" as though they wish to kill her?
What if this was all a ruse to see whether she would explode using her magical power, perhaps like a test itself.
That night two maids were holding together by their elbows, whispering to each other while gripping tight to the lantern one of them were holding. One squeezed the other’s arm until her fingers went white.
"Let’s go back now. This was a foolish idea," she hissed, voice small as a mouse.
The bolder girl scoffed, a lopsided grin in the lantern glow. "Oh, come off it. You’re always jumpy. Weren’t you the one who said you heard something from the east wing?" She leaned forward, peering into a shadowed doorway. "I’ll bet it’s old Jory in the garden. Every time he passes he licks his lips like he’s tasting supper. That’s the sound you heard, him skulking about, trying to peep into our room."
"But—" the other cut in, jaw trembling, "it wasn’t a voice. It was a growl."
The bolder maid stopped and scoffed, "Then it must be a dog-"
"WAHH!" A loud yell came from the maid beside her which startled the bolder maid. She snapped her eyes forward and reached the lantern toward the spot that had made her friend to yell only to see there was nothing.
Annoyed, she puffed her cheeks and turned to her scardey cat friend, "I almost lost my heart! What are you yelling at?"
"I saw something! I really did... let’s go back Emma, please?"
"Calm down silly Jane. There’s nothing here," said Emma as she walked forward and brought the lantern with her while Jane froze in place. She reached the bushes that was right under their window and huffed, "See? There’s nothing. I told you already that the castle might be filled with ghost but it won’t ever reach the servant’s quarter."
And as she turned around, she was surprised to find that Jane had gone missing. Confused, she gulped and called out to Jane, "Stop it. This isn’t funny. I know that I said I’m not scared but if you’re gone suddenly that’s going to scare anyone!"
Emma’s voice trembled despite the bravado still curling on her tongue. "Jane? Stop playing around."
The lantern flame flickered wildly as the wind swept through the courtyard, and for the first time, Emma noticed how unnaturally cold it had grown. She took a hesitant step back, her slippers crunching against the gravel.
"Jane—"
Her words froze in her throat.
There, beyond the wavering light, Jane’s body dangled several feet off the ground. Her shoes swayed like a puppet on invisible strings, toes scraping helplessly at the air. Emma’s gaze dragged upward, and her heart seized.
Pale, spectral hands, long fingered, almost translucent, and glowing faintly blue, gripped Jane by the neck. They did not connect to any body, but hung disembodied in the night, descending from the black sky like the talons of some unseen predator. The fingers tightened with a sickening crack.
Jane’s eyes bulged, her lips forming a silent plea before her head lolled sideways. The lantern slipped from Emma’s hand, smashing against the stones, but she hardly noticed. The world narrowed to the ghastly sight above her.
Emma stumbled backward, clutching her skirts, her chest heaving. "No—no—no!" The cry tore from her throat, raw and panicked, but the air itself seemed to swallow it, muffling her voice.
