~Elsie's POV
It was deep red.
The kind of red that didn't fade, no matter how much water ran over it.
My hands froze, my fingers still gripping the wet fabric as my eyes stayed fixed on the water, my chest tightening slowly, painfully, like something was squeezing the air out of me.
"No…" I whispered, my voice shaking.
I blinked, but it didn't change.
If anything, it looked worse.
The blood seemed to spread, swirling slowly around the sink, clinging to the sides, staining everything it touched, and for a second, it felt like it was growing instead of washing away.
I shook my head quickly, my grip tightening on the dress as panic rose inside me, sharp and overwhelming, and before I could stop myself, the words tore out of my throat.
"No!"
My voice echoed loudly in the bathroom, breaking the silence, bouncing off the walls in a way that made everything feel even more real, more suffocating.
I stumbled back slightly, my hands slipping from the fabric as I stared at the sink, my chest rising and falling too fast, my heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst out of me.
"It's not going… it's not going away…" I muttered, my voice trembling as tears blurred my vision.
I rushed forward again, almost slipping as I grabbed the dress and shoved it back under the running water, scrubbing harder this time, more desperate, more frantic.
"Go away… please… just go away…"
My fingers moved faster, rougher, as if, if I just tried hard enough, it would disappear, like I could undo everything by force, but the more I scrubbed, the more the water turned red again, the more it refused to clear.
It felt endless.
Like it would never stop.
My breathing became uneven, almost painful, as tears streamed down my face freely now, mixing with the water, falling onto the fabric, onto my hands, onto everything.
The sound tore out of me before I could hold it back, and it echoed in the bathroom in a way that made everything feel worse instead of better. My chest tightened, my breathing turned uneven, and without thinking, I pushed the door open and rushed out.
The moment I stepped into the room, the air hit me differently, but it didn't help. If anything, it made the nausea rise faster, stronger, and before I could steady myself, I bent forward suddenly, my hand pressing against my stomach as everything came up at once.
I vomited.
My whole body shook with it, my breath coming in short, broken gasps as I tried to steady myself, but nothing felt stable, nothing felt right.
"Madam!" Clara's voice came quickly, and I heard footsteps rushing toward me.
The other maids followed behind her, their movements fast but careful, like they were afraid to touch me the wrong way, like I might break if they did.
"Please, step back," I said weakly, lifting my hand slightly as I tried to catch my breath, my voice trembling more than I wanted it to.
They stopped immediately.
All of them.
And even though they were still close, I could feel that they were holding themselves back, waiting, watching me with concern I didn't know how to handle.
"I'm fine… just….just give me a moment," I added, though my voice didn't sound convincing even to me.
My chest rose and fell heavily, and I stayed bent for a while, my fingers pressing lightly against my knees as I tried to steady the spinning feeling in my head.
But it didn't go away.
Because my mind…
My mind was no longer here.
It dragged me back to that moment.
I saw it again.
The old man, the way he stood there, the way everything happened was too fast, the way he fell, the way his body hit the ground, and the way the blood spread.
My breath caught painfully in my throat.
"No…" I whispered, my voice breaking as my vision blurred again.
Tears filled my eyes before I could stop them, and this time, I didn't try to hold them back.
"I… I didn't…" I murmured, shaking my head slowly, my hands trembling at my sides as the memory played over and over again, louder, clearer, like it refused to leave me alone.
I felt a hand gently touch my arm.
"Madam…" Clara said softly.
I flinched slightly at the contact, but I didn't pull away.
I didn't have the strength to.
Instead, I let them help me up slowly, their hands steady and careful as they supported me, guiding me back toward the bathroom.
But as we got closer, I shook my head quickly.
"I will do it myself," I said, my voice still unsteady, but firmer this time.
Clara paused for a moment, studying my face, and then she nodded.
"As you wish, madam," she replied softly.
They didn't argue.
They didn't insist. Instead, they moved ahead quietly, and I watched as they prepared the bath, filling the tub with warm water again, the steam rising gently like before, as if nothing had happened.
As if everything was normal.
One of them carefully picked up the white dress I had been washing, the one stained with everything I couldn't forget, and took it away without a word.
I didn't stop her.
I couldn't even look at it again.
When everything was ready, they stepped back, their heads bowing slightly.
"We will take our leave," Clara said gently.
I nodded faintly.
And then they walked out.
The door closed behind them with a soft click, and I was alone again.
I stood there for a moment, staring at the tub, my chest still rising and falling too fast, my hands still trembling slightly, but I forced myself to move slowly and carefully.
I stepped into the water.
The warmth wrapped around me immediately, but it didn't bring the same comfort as before.
It didn't feel soft.
It didn't feel calming.
It just… felt like something I needed to do.
I sank into it slowly, letting the water rise around me, and for a second, I just sat there, staring at nothing.
Then I moved. My hands came up to my arms, and I started scrubbing so hard.
Like I was trying to remove something deeper than dirt.
Like I was trying to peel something off my skin.
My fingers dragged roughly over my arms, my shoulders, my neck, and I didn't stop, even when my skin started to feel sensitive, even when it started to sting slightly.
"It has to go…" I whispered under my breath, my voice low and uneven.
I scrubbed again.
And again.
And again.
But nothing changed.
I still felt the memory and the weight.
The feeling that something was stuck to me, something I couldn't wash away, no matter how hard I tried.
Tears slipped down my face quietly, mixing with the water, but I didn't stop.
I couldn't.
Because stopping felt worse.
Stopping meant thinking.
And thinking brought everything back.
So I kept going.
My hands were moving over my skin in desperate, uneven motions, my breathing still unsteady, my mind refusing to rest.
Time passed, but I didn't notice.