1730, 𝔍𝔲𝔫𝔢 • 𝔗𝔥𝔯𝔢𝔢 𝔇𝔞𝔶𝔰 𝔄𝔣𝔱𝔢𝔯 ℌ𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔶'𝔰 𝔡𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥
The guests spun around and around, and the wine flowed quite well, too. I sauntered around, making sure nothing was out of place–my silk black dress making noise on the marble. Families from far have come except his father. My parents died soon after the fever hit, a year after Henry and I's marriage.
"Lady Greystone, there are people outside with torches, and they do plan on arsoning the manor with you in it," the servant who works here under our manor said.
It had only been three days. How silly must I be to think that I would have time to mourn him? "Get the guests somewhere safe, now quickly," I command, with a calmness I have learned from Henry.
With one last look at my ring–the one he slid onto my finger, I walk out there. To converse and to not let whatever is going on fester. His body is still out in the yard, growing old by now. "Father? What is the matter?"
"The matter is that you are a witch, and you conspired to have him killed. A fever? I think not."
𝕱𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝕯𝖆𝖞𝖘 𝕷𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖗
I opened my eyes to only charred remains, and I to be the only one alive. My throat commands I let the thirst die. But how? I feel my throat, and surprise lingers when I find it is on fire.
There are no flesh here, just nothing left. Some of them seemed to be guests I had invited. Most I recognized. As I walked around the remainder of what used to be our manor, I had the urgent realization that the portraits had burned too.
I went to the library, our library, or what used to be that, and glanced at all of the paintings. None of them burned down to my immediate relief.
The metallic scent of something made me pause a bit. It was something I needed, even though I didn't understand why. I staggered up to it, the goblet of blood calling to me, in my burned dress.
Well, the blood's aroma also relieved me in a sort of way when I took a whiff of it. And then gulped it down like my life somehow depended solely on it.
𝐌𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐃𝐚𝐲 • 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐮 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡
As I drove into the parking lot of the beach with starting my clinic in mind, I couldn't help but think that maybe something would be different. I donated all those portraits decades ago. I got out of my car and walked up to my clinic to unlock the door.
See, I am old-fashioned. It serves its purpose. And rather generously too. The yellow truck pulled into its usual spot. With my hearing, I can pick up sounds quite well.
"Morning, Mabel," Mitch shouted, his voice carrying over the crashing waves.
"It is a pleasant morning," I say, not looking back. "And Good Morning."
I was still getting accustomed to the way they spoke and handled business. Eddie muttered, "She is in a mood. Did you hear that? 'It is a pleasant morning.' Who says that? She sounds like she's about to host a tea party, not pull a tourist out of a riptide."
I smirked, unlocking the oak doors, and pushed them open.
"Shut up, Eddie," I heard him reply to Eddie. "She's just... particular. She's got her own standards."
"Yeah, well, her 'standards' are starting to get weird," Shauni added, walking up to join both Eddie and Mitch.
"I saw her yesterday in the supply room. I tried to make a joke about the new sunscreen formula, and she just stared at the bottle like it was a piece of alien technology. She told me the 'standards of protection' were higher when people stayed in the shade. Then she just... vanished into the hallway. I didn't even hear her footsteps."
"She donated some stuff to the museum recently," Mitch said, mostly to himself. "Old portraits. From the 1700s. I asked her about them, and she shut me down fast."
I have my reasons, you young ones, and I do not expect you to understand. The clinic, my clinic–the one I specifically started during the Great Depression, has held strong.
**
Later that day, Shauni and Eddie showed up. My eyes quickly dart to his leg. Broken Leg, heart rate is faster than normal.
"Lay him on the bed, dear," I gesture to the old bed that was used back in the 1930s. Shauni helped him onto the bed and then began to explain, which I quickly shut down.
"Mabel, he hit the rocks at the North Point. It looks bad. We should probably call an ambulance to get him to the county hospital for X-rays—"
"Silence, my dear," I said, and walked up to Eddie. I touched his leg to see how he'd broken it, well, from his perspective.
I pulled back, knowing exactly what to do. Shauni was practically vibrating as I looked through my organically made herbs and rubbed them on.
"Well, then.... The only thing left would be rest."