Chapter 11 - The Purple Rot
Elara stumbled backward, her breath catching in her throat as the beautiful red rose crumbled into foul, black ash.
She stared at her trembling hands, watching in absolute horror as the dark purple light faded back beneath her pale skin.
It was not a trick of the light, nor was it a hallucination brought on by the trauma of the past few weeks.
The paralytic poison her fake father had pumped into her veins for a decade had done much more than sever her connection to her legs.
It had acted as a chemical dam, holding back a terrifying, destructive mutation that was now violently waking up.
She heard footsteps crunching on the gravel path behind her, and she quickly shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her cardigan.
The boy who had saved her life walked around the tall hedge, carrying a wooden bucket of fresh oats for the rescued horses.
Over the past three weeks, in the quiet moments between rebuilding the estate, he had finally told her his name was Silas.
Silas stopped in his tracks, his piercing green eyes immediately dropping to the small pile of black ash on the stone walkway.
He looked at the withered, blackened vines spreading across the otherwise vibrant wooden trellis.
What happened here, Elara.
His voice was gentle, but underneath it lay the sharp, trained instincts of someone who had survived in the shadows his entire life.
Elara forced a painfully fake smile, stepping in front of the dead rose bush to block his view.
It must be some kind of aggressive blight, I will have the groundskeeper look at it tomorrow morning.
Silas did not press the issue, but he did not look convinced either, his eyes lingering on her tense shoulders.
Later that night, Elara locked herself inside her massive master bathroom, terrified to touch anything in the house.
She turned on the brass faucet to wash her face, desperately hoping the cold water would calm her racing heart.
The moment her bare fingers gripped the polished metal handle, a violent surge of purple electricity shot up her forearm.
The heavy brass faucet instantly corroded, turning green and brittle before snapping off completely into the porcelain sink.
Water geysered into the air, soaking her silk pajamas as she backed away in sheer panic.
She was not just an heiress who had reclaimed her stolen throne; she was turning into a biological weapon.
If Silas found out that her energy was the exact, lethal opposite of his healing light, she knew he would look at her with the same fear her father once had.
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She wrapped her hands in thick leather riding gloves, making a silent, terrifying decision in the dead of the night.
She had to visit the maximum security penitentiary and demand the truth from the monster who raised her.
