Blood began to flow from the fresh wound, staining her skin.
The pain was sharp and immediate, but it was nothing compared to the emotional torment she had endured.
Eiravyne stared at the blood with a mix of defiance and despair.
As the crimson liquid dripped onto the floor, she felt a strange sense of power.
She had taken control, if only for a moment, refusing to let others dictate her fate.
Her body trembled, not just from the physical pain, but from the intensity of her emotions.
As the sight of her own blood overwhelmed her, Eiravyne felt her knees buckle.
She sank to the ground, leaning against her bed, her eyes taking in the mess she had caused.
A bitter smile formed on her lips.
“I guess… I should have done this sooner,” she muttered to herself, her voice tinged with a mix of regret and defiance.
“Right when I noticed that I was treated differently from my siblings…”
As she sat there, blood pooling around her and the broken mirror shards glinting ominously, Eiravyne’s mind raced through memories of her family’s cruelty.
She laughed bitterly, a hollow sound in the quiet room.
“Why did I ever believe them?” she wondered aloud.
“Why did I let them break me again and again …for so long ?…if that is my fate …I am not going to let that happen again”
Her vision blurred as the loss of blood took its toll, but she refused to succumb to the darkness closing in.
She forced herself to stay conscious, to stay aware of her decision, her defiance.
Suddenly, the door burst open, and Karl, the sorcerer, stood there.
His presence was imposing, his purple eyes alight with a mixture of fury and concern.
He was at her side in an instant, his hands moving with a practiced ease as he assessed the situation.
“What have you done?” Karl’s voice was sharp, cutting through the haze in Eiravyne’s mind.
Without waiting for an answer, he knelt beside her and grabbed her wrist, his touch firm but not unkind.
He quickly tore a strip of fabric from his cloak and wrapped it around her bleeding wrist, staunching the flow of blood.
Eiravyne looked up at him, her vision hazy but her spirit unbroken.
“I won’t be …..his tool.”
Karl’s eyes softened momentarily before hardening again.
“You have no idea what you’re toying with,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.
“Your blood is more valuable than you can comprehend, and your life is not yours to throw away…Ilkar is going to be furious .”
He lifted her effortlessly, carrying her to the bed and laying her down gently.
With a determined look, he placed his hand over the makeshift bandage and began to chant softly.
A warm, pulsating energy emanated from his palm, flowing into her wound.
Eiravyne gasped as she felt the strange sensation, her flesh knitting itself back together under his touch.
“Stop,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because your blood is too precious to waste,” Karl replied, his gaze unwavering.
“You will understand your importance soon enough.”
As Eiravyne lay on the bed, her strength waning, the door burst open once more.
This time, Ilkar strode in, his face contorted with fury.
The intensity of his presence filled the room, making the air feel heavy and oppressive.
Karl looked up, his hands still on Eiravyne’s wrist, and his expression shifted to one of cautious respect.
“Ilkar,” he began, but the duke cut him off with a sharp gesture.
“What is the meaning of this?” Ilkar’s voice was a low growl, his golden eyes blazing with anger as he took in the scene—the broken mirror, the blood-stained floor, and Eiravyne’s pale form on the bed.
“She tried to end her life,” Karl replied, his tone measured.
“I was healing her.”
Ilkar’s gaze shifted to Eiravyne, who looked back at him with a mixture of fear and defiance.
He moved closer, his towering figure casting a shadow over her.
Without a word, he grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes.
“You foolish girl,” he hissed, his grip bruising her tender skin.
“Did you really think you could escape your fate by ending your life?”
“I won’t let you use me,” she whispered, her voice trembling but resolute.
Ilkar’s lips curled into a cruel smile.
“You think you have a choice?” He released her chin, only to grab her wrist and inspect Karl’s handiwork.
He leaned closer, his breath hot against her ear.
“You will learn what it means to be mine. Your defiance is amusing, but it will not save you.”
He turned his attention back to Karl.
“Ensure she is kept under constant watch. I will not have her harming herself again.”
Karl nodded, his expression neutral.
“As you wish.”
Eiravyne’s vision blurred as she felt the room spin around her.
The loss of blood had left her weak and disoriented.
As Ilkar’s words faded into the background, she could barely register his imposing figure looming over her.
Ilkar’s grip on her wrist tightened as he sensed her slipping away.
“Pathetic,” he muttered, his voice dripping with disdain.
“You can’t even endure a simple wound.”
The last thing she saw was Ilkar’s cold, golden eyes staring down at her with a mixture of anger and something more chilling—possessiveness.
Ilkar knelt beside her, his presence overwhelming.
He grabbed her by the chin once more, forcing her to look at him.
“You will not escape this,” he hissed, his voice low and dangerous.
“You will endure everything I have planned for you. And you will not die unless I allow it.”
Eiravyne’s eyes fluttered shut, her body giving in to the overwhelming fatigue and blood loss.
She heard his voice, distant and menacing, as darkness enveloped her.
“You are mine, Eiravyne Sangrever. Remember that.”
As she lost consciousness, she felt a cold, terrifying certainty that her nightmare was far from over.