Zinnia crouched, her eye pressed tightly against the keyhole, staring into Henkel’s study. Her pupils were unnaturally wide, dilated to the point of drowning out her irises in black.
Her fingers twitched, jerking in small, irregular movements, mirroring the rhythmic motions of Henkel’s hands as he scratched at a parchment. Her breathing grew shallow, her attention sharpened, and the rest of the world dimmed.
She watched his every move, determined to memorize it all: the angle of his wrist, the way his fingers curled around the quill, the smooth, mechanical flow of his writing.
Her skills of observation, honed through years of cultivating Illusionist arts, allowed her to lock in on the smallest details. Zinnia’s hand mimicked his, hovering just over the keyhole. She wasn’t just learning—she was creating a new instinct, imprinting his movements into her mind like a natural reflex, preparing to recreate them later.
But something shifted. A strange softness filled her mind, like a gentle purr. It was quiet at first, a background noise, but as it grew louder, it curled around her thoughts, soothing her senses.
It was oddly comforting, coaxing her to relax into its embrace, to give in. She smiled slightly, her fingers still tracing Henkel’s motions as her mind began to drift, unmoored from the present. The purring seemed to echo within her, vibrating through her bones, quite pleasurable.
Then her heart lurched. It slammed against her chest, pulling her forward. Zinnia barely stopped herself from smashing her head into the door, her forehead hovering a fingernails width away from the wood. Her breath hitched. The purring stopped, the warmth evaporating as quickly as it had come. She blinked, her pupils narrowing slightly as she stumbled back, shaking her head.
"What the?" she whispered, staring at her hands, the fingers still twitching, still trying to trace movements she couldn’t remember. "What was I...?"
Before she could gather her thoughts, a low growl rumbled through her head, scraping against her mind like claws. Zinnia’s hands fell limp at her sides. Her body moved without her command, mechanically returning to her position at the door. Her eyes locked onto Henkel once again, her hands lifting, mimicking him as the growl faded and the purring returned, deeper now, thrumming through her skull. She smiled faintly, unaware of the blood pooling into her mouth, metallic and warm against her tongue.
Time slipped away from her as Henkel’s scratching filled the room. An hour passed, though she didn’t notice. Her body moved like a puppet, mimicking Henkel’s every stroke, her mind locked in a fog. Then, suddenly, another violent jerk of her heart ripped her out of the trance. This time, the pain lingered, a dull, constant ache.
Zinnia stumbled back from the door, her hands shaking uncontrollably. She touched her lips, feeling the sticky, congealed blood that had begun to dribble down her chin. Her heart raced, and her thoughts scattered.
"What... the hell is happening?" She wiped the blood off her face with the back of her hand, blinking hard to shake the haze clouding her mind. A growl, louder this time, echoed through her skull. Her arms went slack, her body sagging toward the door again. Her fingers twitched, ready to return to their mimicry.
"No!" Zinnia hissed as her heart spasmed again, blood welling up in her throat. She spat it onto her hands, shaking her head violently to clear the fog. Her pulse roared in her ears, drowning out the purring, the growling. Her vision swam, but a single thought cut through the chaos: Run.
"Need to run," she whispered, her voice barely audible as her instincts kicked in, overriding everything else. Damn the mystery. Screw this old fucker.
Her heart hammered against her ribcage as her mind screamed at her, Run. Run. Run. The growling in her head intensified, becoming more feral, but the pain in her chest dulled it. Her breath came in short, ragged bursts as she staggered toward the window, her legs barely responding.
With no grace, she hurled herself through the window she had entered from, the glass she’d cut earlier providing just enough space for her escape. She tumbled outside, landing hard on the ground, her knees scraping against the dirt. The growling stopped the moment she left the house.
For a brief, terrifying second, Zinnia’s vision went dark. Her body felt weightless, her mind drifting in a haze. The memory of Henkel’s repetitive motions blurred, replaced by flashes of faces—Silas’s gaunt, cruel visage, the Inn in Rhysling, the sensation of poison being forced down her throat. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, louder than the growls, louder than the purring, until the memories merged into one, undeniable truth.
"Him," she gasped, her chest heaving. The antidote. He’d warned her, hadn’t he? The poison in her system would hit her if she went too long without the antidote. Her heart palpitations, the blood in her mouth—these were the "unpleasant" effects he'd mentioned. But why now? She hadn't run out of time yet, had she?
"Crazy bastard wouldn’t send me out without ensuring I could get back," Zinnia muttered, trying to force her thoughts into order. Something triggered this. She gritted her teeth as another spasm shot through her chest, nearly making her scream. Her pupils shrank, her eyes bloodshot, the whites red and raw.
I have to find him, she realized.
Zinnia struggled to her feet, stumbling through the streets, her body weakened but driven by the single, pulsing command now pounding through her mind: Find the bastard, or die.
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Zinnia moved through the winding streets of Sichal, hugging the shadows like a second skin. There wasn’t much of a crowd this late, and any lingering folk moved with purpose, leaving her no cover to blend into. She kept her body low, avoiding the pools of light cast by flickering streetlamps coming to life.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Her breath rasped, and with every exhale, blood trickled from her nose, thin and runny, soaking the hem of her sleeve.
As she passed by a low open window, the flicker of a dark green curtain caught her eye.
Without breaking stride, she reached through and tore off a strip, wrapping it around her mouth and nose to cover the blood. The spasms in her chest had become less frequent, but each one hit harder, sending a shockwave of pain through her body. Her fingers trembled as she tucked the cloth into place, her mind trying to stay ahead of the agony clawing at her heart.
Zinnia kept moving, slipping through the darkened streets unnoticed. She wound her way past houses covered in vines and flowers, their windows open to let in the evening air. Faint giggles and murmured conversations drifted from within, but she paid them no mind. She could feel another spasm building, and she gritted her teeth, determined to get through it without collapsing.
But it hit harder than expected.
Her vision blurred, and her foot caught on a loose cobblestone. Zinnia tumbled forward, her arms flailing as she crashed toward the ground. Just as she braced herself for the impact, something—or someone—darted in front of her.
He must have miscalculated. The man threw himself forward, aiming to catch her but misjudging where she'd fall. Zinnia’s body slammed into his bony abdomen, knocking the wind out of him. Her face, however, still met the pavement with a sickening thud, and the two of them ended up in a tangled heap, forming a cross on the cold ground.
"Ugh..." the man groaned, his cheeks inflating before he suddenly vomited up something green and mushy. Probably a once-leafy vegetable, now an unidentifiable mess.
Zinnia’s arms shook as she tried to push herself up, her body quivering with the effort. The pain in her chest had grown unbearable, every breath a battle. She glanced at her savior, a young man dressed in a ridiculously tight shirt—well, it had been a shirt before he ripped it off for some reason to catch her—and pants that seemed to be designed to restrict movement, not help it.
"I'm... sorry..." he wheezed, coughing with embarrassment as he wiped his mouth. "My heroism... uh... failed me."
Zinnia clutched her chest, leaning against the nearest wall, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Sweat poured down her forehead, her vision swimming as another spasm wracked her heart. The man’s eyes widened in panic as he noticed her worsening condition.
"Hey now! Are you alright?!" His voice rose with worry, and he scrambled to his feet, hovering over her. "You're sweating like crazy! Oh, shit, you’re having a heart attack, aren't you?!"
Before Zinnia could respond, he darted into a nearby doorway, emerging moments later with his ripped shirt from earlier drenched in water. He knelt by her side, his movements frantic but well-meaning.
"Shit, I don’t know what to do!" he exclaimed, pressing the wet cloth to her forehead, trying to make her more comfortable. "Breathe! Breathe evenly, alright?"
Zinnia looked up at him, her mind still spinning from the pain. Through her blurred vision, she noticed a small tattoo on his cheek—four tiny hearts etched into his skin. A strange reflex took over her, and she muttered through shallow breaths, "A prostitute?"
The young man recoiled slightly, cheeks flushing. "Oy! It's good work, alright? And you’re lucky it kept me here to help you!"
Her heart spasmed again, more violently this time, and her vision blurred as blood began to leak from her ears. She slumped further down the wall, her knees giving out beneath her. The pounding in her chest was relentless, and her instincts screamed at her: Run. Run. Run.
Zinnia tried to focus, forcing her words out between labored breaths. "If you... want to help me... take me to the prison..."
The man blinked, confused and panicked. "Prison?!" He glanced nervously down the street. "Don’t talk crazy, you need a healer!"
Zinnia shook her head, clenching her teeth against the rising tide of pain. "Ask for... Senior Ji... at the prison. Tell him... Freckles likes stuffed crows~..." She coughed, tasting blood on her lips. "He’s the only one that can help me."
The man’s panic deepened as he watched her slide down the wall, her body weakening with every passing second. "Oy! Oy! Stay with me!" He shook her lightly, his voice rising with desperation.
Blood dripped from her ears, her body limp. He weighed his options, staring at the woman crumpled against the wall. She was just a stranger—a bleeding, half-conscious stranger who was asking to be taken to a prison. But if there was even a chance he could save her, he had to try.
"Alright! Alright!" he muttered, hoisting her up into his arms. It took all his strength, and he grumbled under his breath, "You need to lay off whatever you’re eating... My stamina’s not built for this kind of activity!"
He staggered under her weight, struggling to carry her through the streets. Sweat poured down his face as he made his way toward the prison, dodging through the sparse crowds that had gathered near the city’s theater. He bumped into several people along the way, each time muttering apologies. "Emergency! Sorry! I’m really sorry!"
One of the people he knocked into—a tall figure in a dark coat—deftly caught their top hat before it hit the ground. They chuckled, glancing over their shoulder as the young man scrambled past. "Be careful, little man," they called in a deep, amused voice. "Not everyone is as patient as I am!"
But the young man didn’t hear. He had one mission now: get Zinnia to the prison, and hope that this Senior Ji could save her.
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Silas shoved Poliana into a cell, right next to the drooling heap that had once been Inquisitor Umbres. The former inquisitor lay crumpled in the corner, a shadow of his former self, a trail of saliva pooling beneath him. Silas slammed the heavy metal door shut and turned to the guard trailing behind him, flashing his ‘Special Inspector’ badge with a casual flick of his wrist.
“Do not let anyone enter this cell except for me. Understood?”
The guard’s eyes went wide, his body stiff with fear as he nodded furiously, too frightened to question the man who had thrown their Town Lord into prison after only a day in Sichal.
Silas turned to leave, his footsteps echoing in the dimly lit corridor. Then a high-pitched voice cut through the air, startling him. "Freckles likes stuffed crows!!!" The voice ricocheted off the stone walls, growing louder and more insistent.
Silas frowned. ''The fuck?'' His curiosity piqued, he turned toward the sound, making his way toward the entrance of the prison. As he approached, the shrill voice repeated the bizarre phrase, and he saw a young man standing at the entrance, cradling what appeared to be a corpse in his arms.
The boy continued to shout, “Freckles likes stuffed crows! Freckles likes stuffed crows!” over and over, his panic evident.
Silas’s eyes narrowed as he approached, but when he saw who the ‘corpse’ was, his face scrunched in annoyance. Zinnia.
Barely alive, she was limp in the young man’s arms, her face pale, blood trickling from her nose and ears. Silas crossed the remaining distance in swift strides, his voice calm but commanding as he addressed the boy. “What’s happening here?”
The tattooed young man looked up, eyes wild with desperation. “I need someone called Senior Ji to help her! She said he’s the only one that can!”
Silas scowled, his patience wearing thin. He motioned to the guards at the door, his tone clipped. “Let them in.”