CW: Death, Trauma Flashbacks

Chapter XIII: Spilled Blood

 

I woke up before dawn on the day of the duel already sticky with blood. I wasn’t entirely sure what it was at first, and tried to go back to sleep. It wasn’t until I reached down, got a red stain on my hand, and had a momentary panic attack that I even realized what was going on. It was just my luck that my freshly-minted uterus had decided that now was the best time to open the floodgates. I ended up stumbling out of bed and making my way to Anna’s room, where I woke her up and asked the very annoyed Anna how periods were dealt with on this world. This conversation ended with me, for the second time in my life, getting a tampon thrown at my head.

Of course, by the time I was back in bed, several minutes later, I had remembered that I was getting into a duel in a few hours. I suddenly didn’t feel like sleeping. I even tried for a little while, laying in bed and going over all of the ways that a dueling saber can kill you. There are many arteries and veins in the body which could be severed, at least a dozen essential organs that will lead to death if a sword is stabbed through them, not to mention the potentials of dismemberment and a slow death via infected cuts.

Realizing that sleep wasn’t getting me anywhere, I grabbed a candle and started wandering around the manor. The candlelight was dull and yellow, so much so that I couldn’t fully see the far side of the hallway when I stood near the wall. For a long while I paced back and forth, checking on the various sitting rooms and guest bedrooms and storage closets as if I was playing hide and seek in slow-motion with an invisible girl. It wasn’t much more stimulating than lying in bed would have been, but it still helped. I let my thoughts wander, thinking back to Earth. It seemed so long ago, even after only three weeks. Everything before Selene was… distant somehow, like things that had been relayed to me by another person. Everything since then, it had all been so real, so incredibly real. I glanced around, staring into the patterns of light and dark scattered across the lintels as the candle flame flickered.

After wandering like that for a little while, I got bored of it and made my way to the library. There I found the worn-out old copy of Passionfruit Blossoms, and proceeded to finish off the last hundred pages. Happy in my knowledge that Passion and the Pirate Queen were able to settle their differences and sail off into the sunset as ocean wives, I then collapsed. I slept deeply and peacefully for what felt like twenty minutes before I was woken up by Sir Margaret.

“Well, I didn’t expect you to be all the way out here, what are you doing here? It took me a while to find you, you know, given that I expected you to be in your room. What book is that, Passionfruit Blossoms, are you studying botany?” she said, leaning over me. 

I crept to awareness, eyes blinking in the light of dawn. “What’re you…” I squeezed my eyes, forcing myself to wake up. “It’s not botany, and don’t ask what it is.”

“Very well, then,” said Sir Margaret, furrowing her brow. “The cooks are preparing breakfast as we speak, and I made sure to let them know that you need as hearty a meal as possible, to put you in the best possible shape.”

“Oh yeah, because I just love hurling in the middle of a duel. It’s my favorite thing to do.” I started stumbling to my feet. I was being bitchy, but at the same time I would never ever pass up breakfast.

“Come now, there’s no need to be such a pessimist, I’m certain that they will be able to come up with something—“ Sir Margaret stopped. It was a very rare occasion when Margaret was struck speechless.

“What is it?”

“Why are you covered in blood?” said Sir Margaret, scanning up and down by body. I looked down at myself. I wasn’t quite covered in blood, though I had somehow gotten stains on places besides my crotch, probably by way of my hands. I was also still wearing an outrageously filmy night dress, which you could almost but not quite see my entire body through. How I got a perfect handprint in blood on my right breast, I shall never know.

For several seconds I stood there awkwardly, not sure exactly how to explain this whole thing. Eventually I just went for it.“I have a vagina, it was going to happen eventually.”

Margaret shot me a very concerned look, and opened her mouth as if to speak. It was the sort of look someone gives when they’re questioning another person’s sanity and general competence, and trying to evaluate how best to care for this complete disaster. 

“Look, I didn’t have to worry about this back on Earth. I had forgotten this was even a possibility until about… two hours ago,” I said, shrugging.

Margaret smirked warmly. “You should probably head back to your chamber and get dressed. The blood spatter and sheer dress is quite a look, very Gothic, but it’s a bit bold for breakfast, don’t you think? Not to mention, you might want to look your best for the duel.” She winked at me, while my jaw fell open. In my musings and wanderings around the mansion I had almost entirely forgotten about my impending death. Wonderful.

I wearily trudged back up through the halls, getting weird looks from every single one of the servants who were also beginning to go about their everyday tasks. I peeled off the nightdress, did a bit of personal maintenance, and then got dressed. It took me a while to decide on an outfit, as torn as I was between practicality and freedom of movement, and my desire to make for an attractive corpse. I eventually settled on a simple pairing of shirt and pants, almost a more fitted version of something I would have worn when I was a guy.

That done, I drifted down the manor and into the dining hall, where a few of the inhabitants with better sleep schedules were eating. Sir Margaret and Lady Halflance were sitting next to each other and talking, the latter looking happy, somehow. Doctor Charcharias was also there, sitting a couple of seats down and sipping quietly from a cup of something black and hot. Margaret turned over her shoulder at the sound of my footsteps.

“Oh, there she is. Emma! Come over here, sit down. The food’s incredible, the cooks have really outdone themselves today,” said Margaret, waving me over. I rubbed my eyes, trying to decide where to actually sit. For a while I hovered near the Halflances before eventually moving over and sitting near Amina. I then began piling food onto my plate, fresh-cut fruit of a species I didn’t recognize, bacon that I could very easily recognize, and a solid bread pudding sort of thing, but not quite. Amina breathed in deeply, then gave me a strange look. Not sure what was up with that.

“Oh, there’s something else I forgot to tell you dear,” said Margaret.

“Of course, tell me. If it’s about Ginger’s latest tantrum, I already know,” said Lady Halflance, smiling at her wife. I still wasn’t accustomed to seeing Lady Halflance smile. It unnerves me.

“No, no, it’s about that ‘blood-soaked phantom’ that the servants saw, I found out the cause behind that. It was Emma, you see, the brain fever made her forget about her flows, so she ended up getting blood all over her nightgown. And then she started wandering the halls bearing a candle, because…” Margaret trailed off, looking back at me.

I hurriedly swallowed a very large mouthful of bacon. “I couldn’t sleep, because of the duel. Looking Gothic helps me relax.”

“Well, there you have it, apparently your ward is rather excellent at scaring the servants unintentionally,” said Margaret. Lady Halflance then continued with whatever she had been saying before I arrived, which sounded long and boring, so I stopped paying attention. I went back to what I was starting to assume would be my last meal.

“What’s wrong, kid?  You seem unhappy,” said Amina. I stopped eating, a bit stunned, and slowly put down my utensils.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m perfectly happy with my oncoming death,” I said, staring directly into Amina’s eyes. “I mean I’ve never held a sword before this month, and judging by how the rest of you talk about it, Regan has been training for years, so what could possibly go wrong.”

Amina furrowed her brow at me. “You are aware that this duel isn’t to the death, right?”

“What? No, I was not!” I turned back to the Halflances. “Why did nobody tell me this wasn’t a duel to the death?!”

“I figured you would have known already, duels are so common around here that you would have to pick up on that little factor at some point,” said Margaret. She started looking a little embarrassed, adding, “I also may have forgotten about your brain fever, you being so well-adjusted and such.”

“I assumed you had already been informed,” said Lady Halflance, taking a brief break from sipping her tea.

“So I’m not going to die, I guess.” To say that this was a weight off of my shoulders would be a rather obvious understatement. Now, instead of overwhelming despair, I was full of annoyance and confusion. 

“Well, to be more precise you could still very well die, it’s rather common in fact,” said Margaret. “Duels are fought with sharpened blades, after all, to encourage a quick surrender by the less-skilled party.” 

“So then…” I paused, working through the new information. “What happens if I lose the duel?”

“You’re considered guilty of dishonoring a noblewoman, which has a sentence of two years in Amrinval Prison. If Regan loses, she has to pay a fine and all of her injuries are considered off-limits for any doctor in the country.” Amina sounded like she had listed off the information dozens of times, which was concerning.

“And you know this… why?” I asked.

“I’ve been in a fair share of duels, you know. What do you think happened to…” She gestured vaguely towards her chest.

“Oh, I didn’t—“ I began. Amina interrupted me.

“It’s a joke, kid. The second part, at least. I have been in several duels.” An awkward silence descended over the table, while all four of us decided that now would be a good time to be alone with our thoughts. I was, personally, feeling pretty good. I didn’t like the idea of going to prison, of course. But all I had to do was avoid getting seriously hurt, and chances are she would give up, right? And the penalty for loss… one or two good strikes from me might be all it took to get her to back down.

As breakfast came to a close, it was time to head off. Rook, being my tutor in the art of combat, was assigned to bring me to the dueling grounds. It was a short carriage ride to the center of Amrinval, a time which Rook used to mercilessly grill me on every single technique of swordswomanship. The carriage entered into the dead center of the city, a similar sort of place to the neighborhood around Leyrender’s workshop. Specifically, we pulled up in front of one of the impossibly vast steel towers. This was going to be the first time I would ever set foot within one.

The towers were as grim on the inside as they were on the outside, all steel and stone. At least it was well lit. Why anyone would construct a building so drearily, I had no idea. I absentmindedly asked Rook who had built these towers, but she confessed that she had no idea. To my surprise, we then stepped into a primitive sort of elevator. instead of buttons marking the different floors, there was a young woman, looking like she was barely out of her teens, holding onto a control lever. Rook told the operator that we were going to the Courthouse, and the elevator clattered and clanged to life.

The Courthouse looked… oddly the same as everything else. It had the same “boiler room as designed by Kafka” aesthetic as the lower floors, which made it substantially more intimidating. It looked like the place you would go to get your head chopped off. Rook passed me off to a bored middle-aged secretary, who asked me a series of deeply personal questions, writing down the answers with a brass fountain pen. I answered with complete truthfulness, of course, which got me several strange looks as I mentioned people and places that were in another dimension. I was very thankful that there was no need for a “what is your sex” question, because if I had to answer “male”, she probably would have had a heart attack.

From there, I was pointed in the direction of the dueling grounds. I arrived at a large oaken double door, and for the first time I could remember laid eyes upon two members of the Amrinval city guard. They were both tall, stern-looking women with closely shorn hair. The uniforms were pale blue, tightly tailored and covering them from wrist to ankle, with brass buttons running in pairs down the center of their chests. Each guard carried a rather intimidating axe in one hand, holding them out like a staff of authority. I glanced down for a moment as I passed by the two of them, taking note of the large revolver at their hips. They barely even acknowledged me as I passed through.

The dueling ground was about what you would expect. It was a large oval room, taking up about twice the height of a normal room, with rings of benches around a small central circle, floored with wood and marked out with a line of red paint. The rows of benches were already beginning to fill with people, most of whom I didn’t recognize. I assumed they were relations of the Leyrenders. Lady Leyrender herself was there, casually signing with her wife, sitting on the bottommost row of benches. As I stood there taking the sight in, the door closed behind me, causing several faces to turn in my direction. Regan Leyrender looked directly into my eyes, icy blue gaze staring me down with a fierce intensity I hadn’t seen before. I averted my own eyes, and focused on not fainting while I made my way down the steps.

As the next few minutes passed, I sank more and more deeply into my own thoughts. I tried to plan ahead, figuring out what I would do in response to every possible move. As time went on, my thoughts began to stray to my own shame over how I had brought this on myself, and to fear of what would happen if I lost. Sure, it didn’t mean certain death, but was prison all that much better? I was so small, so weak, so stupid. I wouldn’t be able to…

“It’s Emma, isn’t it?”.

“Huh?” I said, breaking out of my internal monologue.

“I’m sorry, we only really had one chance to talk at the exhibition. Do you remember me? I danced with a mechanical.” I looked up to see Esther Nettle, the small and sickly woman who apparently served as an apprentice to Lady Leyrender. We had indeed met before.

“Oh, yeah, nice to meet you. I imagine this whole thing has been chaotic for everyone at the workshop,” I said.

“Not as such, no. I don’t think the Lady really thought much about it, given her wife does this so often. It’s been essentially business as usual,” Esther said.

“Oh. Leyrender’s wife does this often?” I didn’t know anyone out there was stupid enough to get into duels on a regular basis. Glancing over at the enormous beast of a woman that was Regan Leyrender, I supposed that if anyone was crazy enough to do that, it would be her.

“Of course, haven’t you heard of her? She’s the most litigious woman in the whole city, the greedy lout. I could never stand people like her, always grubbing after money even when they have more than enough.” Esther sighed, looking down at her feet. “I suppose I worked with Lady Leyrender for her mind, not for her taste in partners…”

She trailed off, and for a couple of seconds there was an awkward silence between us. “If this isn’t much of a big deal for you, why are you here?” I said.

“Well, first of all I’m here to shame you for being such a bloody idiot and getting yourself into this mess,” said Esther, putting one hand on her hip. “But… I’m also here to wish you luck.”

“You’re going to wish me luck? I thought you were here for Leyrender.”

Esther paused, furrowing her brow. “You’re a headstrong idiot, but I’m pretty sure you know that. Salt the earth, you don’t deserve to go to prison over something as minor as this! I’m hoping that Regan will get a new scar or two before conceding, and we can all forget this ever happened.”

“I mean… same. But given I had never picked up a sword in my life until three weeks ago, I really doubt it’s going to go that well,” I said. I glanced back at Regan Leyrender, noticing for the first time that she wasn’t carrying a sword.

Esther followed my gaze, then turned back, nodding at me. “I wanted to give you this,” she said, turning up her voice as if it was some kind of question. She rifled through her pants pocket, and pulled out a strange greenish stone. “It’s a good luck charm; I found it sitting in a gutter. Not sure what kind of material it is, but I figure you could use the luck more than I could.”

I took the rock from her. It was long and thin, about the width of my thumb. The material was bright green, almost like glass but without the slick feeling. It was smooth, sure, but more like polished stone, maybe a jade or something. It almost looked like it had been broken off of a larger piece, which made me wonder what it had broken off of.

Another couple of minutes passed, as the benches filled to capacity. The Halflances were both there, as well as Felicia and Miss Rook herself. All of them were seated in the bottom row, right alongside Esther and Lady Leyrender. Even the back rows were completely full, which lead me to believe that not all of these people actually knew the Halflances or the Leyrenders. Then a third woman stepped into the circle. She was Jaleran, with coppery skin and long greying hair tied into a single braid. She was a larger woman, though still upright and regal in the way she carried herself, and wearing a very fancy-looking robe. It looked like a wizard outfit.

“It is almost time for the duel to begin!” she said, loud enough to be heard throughout the room yet not quite shouting. “My name is Judicator Patience Managal, and I shall be presiding over this duel between Sir Regan Leyrender and Emma Marcus Farrier, ward of the Halflance family. The charge in this case is slander and dishonoring of the fair Lady Lorraine Leyrender. Now we shall present the blades, before going over the rules of this duel.”

Two sharply-dressed assistants, both wearing clothing with similar colors but substantially less wizard-ness, stood up. Each one drew from her hip a saber, and one of them carefully handed it, hilt first, to me. It was a fairly standard saber, lightly curved, with a knuckle guard wapping all the way around my hand. Once the assistant had stepped back I took a moment to wave it around a bit. It had the same weight to it as the ones I had practiced with. At least that was off to a good start. The Judicator asked Regan and I if there was anything off with our swords. We both said no.

Then we were directed to stand in the middle of the circle, about five feet apart, while the Judicator read off, in very formal language, all of the rules of dueling. There were ways of indicating surrender, a disturbingly short list of banned strikes, several redundant methods of indicating surrender, a reiteration of the penalties for defeat, and on and on it went. 

Regan looked down at me. She was wearing a military uniform, similar to that of the city guard, except cut for more looseness around the joints, the better to fight in. I felt dwarfed by her, even though objectively she was probably shorter than Lady Halflance. She obviously felt the same way about our size imbalance, as she caught me looking at her and smirked. I was starting to think poorly about my chances again, what with her advantages in both reach and strength. Just as I started to spiral back into despair, I caught myself. I didn’t have to beat her, I just had to hurt her enough to make her give up.

“Do you understand these rules?” said the Judicator.

“Yes, I do,” I said, voice shaky.

Regan nodded.

“Then ready yourself, the duel shall begin on my mark,” said the Judicator, more quietly now. This same quiet had extended over the entire room, all the way into the farthest reaches of the crowd. I turned to Regan. She was ready, saber aimed directly at me. I closed my eyes, breathing in, then out and trying to remember my lessons with Rook. I folded my left hand behind my back, and raised my sword hand towards Regan. 

“Begin!!” shouted the Judicator, slicing her hand through the air and hurrying away from the two of us.

Regan lunged, a sweeping cut coming for my head. The space between us closed in an instant. My sword went up. With a crash of steel on steel, I stopped her strike. But only barely, with her greater strength trying to break my guard. In a moment, the cut turned into a thrust, going over my block and aimed for my face. I stumbled back, missing the tip of her sword by an inch but sacrificing my balance. I tried for a counterattack, a simple slash at her hip. Missed by about a mile. Another cut came my way, which I had to almost throw myself away from. I was giving ground rapidly. With a low grunt, she sent out a long-reaching thrust. I sidestepped, or more like side-scrambled, an awkward movement that barely served to prevent me from getting ventilated.

For a few seconds, nothing happened. My mind was blank, focused only on the pounding of my heart and the wheezing of my breath. I had escaped that first exchange through sheer endurance, not skill. Fuck. Regan didn’t look like she wanted to push the attack either, of course. She was just… looking at me, sizing me up. Looking for weaknesses in my guard when she could strike. For a little while longer we circled each other like that, both of us waiting for the other to give an opening. I knew I couldn’t win this by dodging, parrying, and being on the back foot. I could tell it in her posture, the way that she stood tall while I felt like collapsing in on myself, that Regan was still confident in her abilities. I had to seize the initiative somehow, so I did.

A quick step in and I was in range. I followed up with a lightning-fast cut at her side, which she deflected. The parry turned into a counterattack, circling around in a wide arc. I sidestepped to my left, keeping my poise this time. I slashed at her thigh, forcing her to take a step back. Even still, a thin red line formed on her leg. Success. The rush of spilled blood lasted for only a moment before she collected herself, launching a counterattack. A wide, scything slash aimed at my throat. I held up my sword like an impenetrable barrier, clashing so loud that I thought my saber was going to shatter. She attacked again, blindingly fast. I blocked, inches from my face. For a moment, the two sabers were locked together, edge to edge. Then she did something clever. Her hilt swung around, blade still locked with mine. White-hot pain burst from my left temple as the sheer force of the blow hurled me back.

My vision went white, or perhaps black. I may have lost consciousness for a moment, only to regain it on the floor. I rushed backwards, grabbing my sword from where it had fallen out of my grasp. Fortunately, I’m pretty sure that there was a rule against attacking an opponent who wasn’t holding onto a sword. My head was pounding, and I was feeling weak, sick even. As I got to my feet, I made sure to keep an eye on Regan, who was checking the injury I had inflicted on her. It was a cut, sure enough, but a shallow one. She certainly didn’t look like it was going to discourage her. I grabbed at my head, expecting a split skull, or at least a dent or something. Nothing except a bruise. I was still shaken, but the pain was starting to fade. Either way, I had learned a lesson I would not soon forget. I couldn’t be too aggressive with this, not without getting run through.

Before I could think much, she leapt back into the fray. A slash at my shoulder, thrown aside by a swing of my sword and a glint of steel. I took a stab at her stomach, but I leaned too far. She brushed it aside with ease and a grin. Another strike, aimed at my skull. A quick block stopped her cold. Then she went over my guard, jabbing down at me. I dashed backwards, out of her reach. We resumed circling each other.

By this point I was exhausted. Every deflection, every dodge, every attack was almost feverish, as I struggled to so much as keep up with Regan. Sweat poured down my face and body, making my shirt stick to my skin. I couldn’t keep this up for much longer. Worse still, though I had already hurt her with my papercut of a leg wound, she had knocked me off of my feet. Though the pain had faded by that point, I was pretty sure I had been given a concussion. Then it hit me. I had fallen for the same trick twice! I block high, she uses her greater reach to stab over and down. That absolute bitch. I came up with a plan, then went in for one last try.

Our blades clashed. Once, twice, ringing out like demonic bells. I grunted with exertion as I put my all into each blow. I struck low, for her legs again, leaving my torso open. She took the bait. A high diagonal slice. I raised my sword for a block. Our swords slammed together one last time. She began to transition her cut into a stab. But I was ready. I lunged forwards, right past her blade. I swung as well, not sure if I would hit or she would. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Her sword was right up against my shoulder, seeking my flesh like a wolf. My heart stopped for a moment. Had I been hit after all? No pain came. She had only cut open a seam of my shirt. Then blood splattered onto my face. It wasn’t mine.

I glanced up, having made certain that I wasn’t hurt. I couldn’t say the same for her, given that my saber was an inch or so into the flesh on the side of her neck. Another heartbeat, another spray of blood, sending droplets into my face, my arm, my eyes, my chest. No. Oh god no.

I let go of the saber, my whole body feeling incredibly weak. The sword slipped out of Regan as it did, clattering to the floor alongside her own sword. She already looked so pale. Images flashed through my mind. A pale arm hanging off of a gurney. A green gemstone ring. The sharp smell of antiseptic. Regan reached languidly at her neck, feeling at the blood pouring from the gash, before collapsing to the ground. All at once, the fear and horror burst out from me. I screamed.

“And we have a victor!” shouted the Judicator, holding her arm out towards me. I didn’t notice or care. I was well past caring.

I grabbed at Regan Leyrender, trying to staunch the flow of blood. It poured and sprayed out of my hands, soaking them in the thick warm red liquid. My eyes were clouding over with tears as I tried to apply some kind of pressure to her. I was too weak, my strength drained by the duel.

“Someone help her, please!” I screamed, blinded by tears. “You have to help her!” I turned frantically, from one face to the next. They looked dour, silent. No response. Then something grabbed me by the shoulder and hurled me backwards. I couldn’t resist it, and I landed on my ass a few feet back. It was Lady Leyrender. She wrapped her arms around her wife’s body, holding her to her chest. Regan whispered a few words into her ear, though I couldn’t hear them. Lady Leyrender carefully laid Regan back down onto the ground, and signed a few words at her. Regan didn’t move. She signed again, more desperately. Still nothing. Then she turned and looked at me, her face twisted into a mask of impossible fury. If looks could kill, I would already have been dead.

“I’m…” What was I going to say? That I was sorry? That it was an accident? I was going to try to get forgiveness, forgiveness that I didn’t deserve. Another memory, the smell of antiseptic. I was a murderer. I didn’t deserve her forgiveness, not for something that could not possibly be taken away, something that was entirely my fault. Because it was my fault. I was the one who insulted Lady Leyrender, and made Regan declare the duel. I was the one who couldn’t control my own sword, overstepped and couldn’t stop myself from taking a life. I stumbled to my feet. Then someone put their hand on my shoulder.

“Are you hurt?” said Sir Margaret. No. I should have been. I should have lost, rather than murder her in cold blood.

“Why isn’t anyone helping her? She’s dying and nobody is doing anything,” I said. I was tired. It felt like my emotions had been completely drained out of me through a pulled plug.

“You should remember, we went over this. This is the penalty she pays for losing, nothing more than that. She chose to do this, and she knew what she was getting into. I’m…” Margaret hugged me, loosely. “I am so very sorry,” she whispered.

I broke out of her grip. “Don’t pity me. I don’t deserve it. Pity my victim,” I said, looking down at the corpse. More memories thrust themselves into my mind. The pale hand, the acrid smell. Margaret didn’t bother to try to hug me again. Good. She knew about what I had done.

One by one, the audience filtered out of the dueling ground. Lady Leyrender and her relatives stayed behind the longest, Leyrender still cradling the long-dead body of her wife. Blood soaked into her cream-yellow dress. I turned and headed back down the elevator, not bothering to deal with the doctors waiting. I didn’t feel any pain, and if I was hurt I deserved it.

I don’t remember much of the journey back to the Halflance manor. Once more I returned in disgrace. The blood on my hands dried and cracked, leaving rust-colored marks on every surface, like marks of shame. The memories played in my head like a montage that refused to end, the blood on my hands, the look on Lorraine’s face, Regan lying dead on the floor. I was a murderer, and it was my fault. It was all my fault. The Halflances pretty much left me alone. Maybe they were starting to realize how bad of an idea it was to have taken me in at all. 

I shambled back into the manor, feeling like I should just fall asleep forever. Maybe if I collapsed at the right time, I would. Before I could do that, I made my way into the nearest washroom. I scrubbed my hands, scraping off the thick crust of spilled blood. Someone else’s blood, because of my own failures. For a while I just stared, watching the diluted blood swirl down the drain. Then I looked in the mirror. A haggard young woman looked back at me, hair matted, face still covered in sweat and tears and small droplets of arterial spray. A pale arm falling off of a gurney. A green gemstone on a golden ring. The smell of antiseptic. I rushed over to the toilet, and threw up, my breakfast leaving me. I kept going until nothing dripped out of my mouth but pale, thin bile.

 

Author's Note: Hello everyone, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, as gruesome as it was. This time I'm here to announce a special deal for the next chapter: for every comment or rating that I get, I'm going to move up the release of chapter 14 by one day! That counts all comments on this chapter, as well as every rating the series gets after I post this chapter. So, if you want to see chapter 14 ASAP, remember to leave those comments, leave those ratings, maybe even write a review or two (which I will be super extra thankful for). Thank you all for sticking with me through this whole story and I hope everyone reading this has a wonderful day, even if Emma... isn't. ;)