Page 92 of Ashen Torment

“You cannot erase me. You will continue to seek me out.”

He leans over me. His face bends over mine, ready to imprint his mark.

“It is you who will always want me,” I murmur.

He stops smiling.

The room grows tighter, more viscous. My skin adheres to my clothes, to the floor, as if it had fused. Something tears him away, dissolving him into nothingness, leaving only an acrid taste clogging my tongue.

“No forgiveness,” my voice breaks.

And I dissolve.

As if I had never existed.

Or as if I had existed only in him.

I wake with a jolt, the voice still clinging to my bones. My eyelids burn, opening with effort in the gloom, and the dawn light pierces my eyes. A throbbing pain in my head gives me no respite, I press my fingers to my temples. I roll onto my side, sit up, and my feet touch the freezing wood.

My gaze goes to the window, I stand up, swaying slightly.

I need clean air.

I still seem to smell that rancid odor.

I open the window and the morning cold cuts through me, but it is not enough.

The skin is still contaminated.

I drag myself to the edge of the bed and seize the silk bell-pull. A light tug makes the bell tinkle in the service room. I sit back down slowly, massaging my temples with my fingertips, trying to ease the pressure crushing my skull.

A few moments later, the light rhythm of my valet’s footsteps bounces off the floor.

The door opens.

“Bonjour, Viscomte.”

“Étienne, bring me some laudanum.”

A surprised expression crosses his face.

“You should eat something fir—”

“Apportez-moi ce maudit laudanum!”

He takes a step back, eyes slightly wide.

“Yes, Viscount.”

“I am sorry, Étienne... I have a terrible migraine... make haste, I beg of you.”

He gives a brief bow and retreats from the room.

Of all days, today of all days...

When my valet returns, he holds the small glass vial in his hands. I rise slowly, seize the dropper, and let ten drops of laudanum fall onto my tongue. Then, with a still-evident tremor, I let five more fall.

“Viscount...”