The sound was violent and wet, a retching convulsion that seemed to originate somewhere deep in her core and force its way up through her throat with muscular contractions she couldn’t control.
Blood erupted from her mouth in a spray that painted the floor in arterial crimson—thick, dark, and carrying chunks of something I didn’t want to identify too closely.
It just kept coming, wave after wave of it, her body folding forward as much as her restraints allowed while her stomach emptied itself with brutal efficiency.
The metallic smell hit me immediately, sharp and overwhelming, mixing with the floral scent of tea still lingering in the air to create a combination that turned my own stomach despite my preparation for this exact outcome.
Elvina cried out between convulsions, sounds of pure agony tearing from her throat when she had enough breath to make them, her voice rising into registers usually reserved for torture victims and people dying in particularly horrible ways.
Tears streamed down her face—except they weren’t normal tears, they were red, actual blood leaking from her tear ducts and painting tracks down her cheeks in crimson rivers that dripped from her jaw to mix with the growing pool on the floor.
She looked up at me then, her expression absolutely destroyed by fear, pain, and incomprehension. More blood-tears continued streaming as she tried to form words through the agony wracking her body.
"What—what did you—" Another convulsion cut off her question, more blood forcing its way past her lips. "What are you doing to me?!"
I maintained my friendly smile throughout, keeping my expression pleasant and concerned in ways that probably made the entire scene infinitely more horrifying.
"Relax," I said gently, like I was comforting a child with a scraped knee rather than watching someone hemorrhage internally. "I didn’t administer enough to actually kill you. This is temporary. Unpleasant, absolutely, but temporary."
"Temporary?!" She choked on blood, coughing it across the floor in spatters that looked almost artistic in their randomness. "You poisoned me! You—fuck—it hurts so much—why would you—"
"It’s a necessity," I explained calmly, settling more comfortably into my crouch while she continued suffering in front of me. "Part of a larger plan that requires your cooperation, though not necessarily your understanding or consent. And before you ask what the plan is, I’m keeping that information to myself for now. You’ll find out when the time comes."
She sobbed—actual sobs mixing with the blood still forcing its way up from damaged internal tissues—her entire body shaking with the force of combined physical agony and emotional devastation.
"Please," she gasped between convulsions. "Please make it stop! I’ll do anything. Just make it stop hurting."
"It’ll stop on its own in about an hour," I said, consulting my mental timeline of how the poison worked based on Brutus’s explanation. "You’ll just have to ride it out." I straightened up, brushing imaginary dust from my clothes. "And just so you know—I’ll be back every day from now on to give you more tea. Same time, same dosage. This becomes part of your new routine."
Her face went pale beyond what I’d thought possible given how much blood she’d already lost, color draining until she looked like a corpse that hadn’t gotten the memo about being dead yet.
"Every day?" The words came out as a broken whisper. "You’re going to do this to me every single day?"
"Every day," I confirmed with cheerful certainty. "Consistency is key in this operation"
She dissolved into uncontrollable sobbing then, her body wracked with sounds of absolute despair that would have moved me if I’d had any emotional reserves left to spare for her suffering.
"It hurts so much," she whimpered between sobs. "You can’t—you don’t understand—it feels like my insides are being scraped out with broken glass—please—!"
I ignored her pleas, instead grabbing the silver tray from the desk and heading toward the door with measured steps that suggested I had all the time in the world. My hand was on the handle when I heard footsteps outside, close enough that whoever was approaching would arrive within seconds, and I pulled the door open just as I was preparing to exit.
I jumped in genuine surprise—an instinctive reaction I couldn’t suppress—because Tora stood directly outside the door, his white hair practically glowing in the weak backstage lighting, his crystal blue eyes wide with concern and curiosity in equal measure.
"Loona!" he said, startled by my sudden appearance. "I was just coming to find you. I heard..." He trailed off, his gaze moving past me to the room I’d just exited, and I saw comprehension dawning across his delicate features. "That’s, no way, that’s... Elvina... What’s going on? Is she hurt?"
Tension flooded the narrow space between us, thick enough to make breathing difficult, and I felt my mind racing through possible responses that ranged from deflection to outright lies to versions of truth that wouldn’t implicate him in what I was doing.
"Tora," I said carefully, keeping my voice neutral and measured. "This isn’t something you need to worry about."
His expression shifted into something approaching determination, his usual timidity replaced by genuine concern that made his spine straighten and his chin lift. "Loona, what’s happening in there? She sounds like she’s in pain. Serious pain. If something’s wrong—"
I sighed heavily, the sound carrying genuine exhaustion and reluctance in equal measure, and extended the tray toward him with deliberate casualness. "I can’t tell you right now. Not because I don’t trust you, but because what I’m doing is something you genuinely don’t want to be involved in for your own sake."
Tora stood his ground, not taking the tray, his hands remaining at his sides while his eyes searched my face with uncomfortable intensity. "You can trust me," he said quietly but firmly. "Whatever you’re doing, whatever this is part of—you can tell me. I want to help. I want to be involved if you need me."
Something in my chest twisted uncomfortably at the sincerity in his voice, at the genuine desire to be included and trusted despite not knowing what he was asking to be part of.
"Tora, listen to me carefully. You’ve already got enough blood on your hands from helping me deal with Elvina back in the tower. I’m not adding more to that burden if I can avoid it."
Understanding flickered across his features mixed with disappointment that made him look even younger than usual. "I see," he said softly, and I could hear layers of hurt beneath the acceptance. "You’re trying to protect me."
"I’m trying to keep you clean," I corrected. "There’s a difference. You’re too valuable, too important, to waste on getting dragged into schemes that could destroy you if they go wrong." I pushed the tray more insistently toward him. "Please. Just take this upstairs and don’t ask questions I can’t answer right now."
He took the tray finally, his hands gentle as they accepted the weight, and when he spoke his voice carried resignation mixed with something that might’ve been respect.
"I understand. And I appreciate you thinking about my wellbeing even when I’m asking you not to." He paused, meeting my eyes. "But Loona? When you’re ready to tell me—when you decide you can trust me with whatever this is—I’ll be here. I’ll listen. And I’ll help however I can."
I nodded, not trusting my voice to remain steady if I tried to respond, and watched him turn and head toward the lobby with careful steps that spoke to how he was processing complex emotions while trying to maintain his composure. Only when he’d disappeared from view did I allow myself to breathe properly again.
Moments later, I climbed the stairs to my quarters with heavy steps, exhaustion settling over me like a physical weight now that the immediate crisis had passed.
Felix and I’s room when I reached it felt simultaneously too large and too confining, shadows gathering in corners despite the fire I’d left burning, and I collapsed onto the bed without bothering to remove my boots or properly prepare for sleep.
My thoughts circled around Tora like moths around flame, unable to settle on a comfortable position. On one hand I genuinely cared about his wellbeing in ways that complicated every strategic calculation I tried to make involving him.
He’d already been forced to participate in Elvina’s downfall back at the tower, had used his magic to help orchestrate her humiliation and exposure, and that burden clearly weighed on him despite his attempts to accept it as necessary.
Adding more darkness to his conscience seemed cruel when he’d done nothing to deserve it beyond being kind and competent and willing to help.
But on the other hand—and saints help me, there was always another hand in this city—Tora represented an asset too valuable to disregard in our ongoing operations. His summoning magic alone made him irreplaceable, capable of producing objects and opportunities that would otherwise be completely inaccessible.
His administrative skills kept our finances organized in ways that prevented catastrophic mistakes. His presence as a Glasswick gave us legitimacy and prestige that translated directly into increased business.
Keeping him at arm’s length from our darker operations meant losing access to capabilities we might desperately need when circumstances turned against us.
I stared at the ceiling, watching shadows shift with the fire’s flickering, and tried to decide which consideration outweighed the other—protecting Tora’s innocence or exploiting his usefulness.
My conscience suggested the former while my strategic instincts screamed for the latter, and the conflict made my head ache with pressure that no amount of rest would relieve.
I decided, with the kind of deliberate postponement that felt like cowardice but was probably wisdom, that I would come to a final decision later. When I had more information about what Mavus was planning, when I understood the full scope of what we were actually involved in, when I could make an informed choice rather than guessing at consequences I couldn’t predict.
For now I needed rest. Sleep. A few hours of unconsciousness where severed heads, blood-tears, and Tora’s disappointed face couldn’t follow me.
I closed my eyes and let exhaustion drag me down into darkness, hoping the dreams would be kinder than reality but knowing they probably wouldn’t be.