Chapter 227 Judgment
William pushed the wheelchair and stopped in front of Isla's cage.
Isla huddled in the corner, not daring to lift her head.
She had already glimpsed that white dress, but she didn't dare truly face it.
"Mrs. Tudor," William's voice was low and slow, "didn't you come to find your daughter?"
Isla's whole body trembled.
William reached out and gently lifted the veil from Isabella's face.
Gray-white skin, sunken features, eyes forever closed.
Corpse spots spread from the neck to the cheeks, showing an eerie dark color in the morning light.
Isla's pupils dilated sharply.
She opened her mouth but couldn't make a sound.
"Didn't you always call her a poor wretch?" William crouched down, meeting her eyes, "Now take a good look at what your unlucky one has become."
Isla's lips trembled.
She backed away, pressing herself into the farthest corner of the cage with nowhere left to go.
William didn't let her off.
He reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her to the edge of the cage.
Then he gripped her neck, pressing her against the iron bars.
"Look closely."
Isla was forced to stare at that face.
That face is so similar to Beatrice's.
That was Isabella.
Her tears spilled suddenly.
Not for Isabella, but for herself.
William watched her cry, and his chest suddenly tightened.
He remembered many years ago, Isabella had looked at him the same way, tears welling in her eyes but never falling.
It seemed she couldn't cry.
No, she could cry—she had clearly cried many times.
It was just that back then, he didn't care.
William released Isla's hand, stood up, and stepped back two paces.
"What are you crying for?"
His voice began to tremble.
"When she was alive, did you ever give her a kind look?"
"When she donated her kidney to you, what did you say?"
"Now that she's dead, who are you crying for?"
Isla covered her face, her shoulders shaking violently.
William turned around, his back to her.
"If only you'd known, why did you do it in the first place?"
As these words left his mouth, his eyelashes trembled slightly.
He suddenly realized—this sentence was also meant for himself.
If only he'd known, why did he do it in the first place?
If he had been a little kinder to her back then, even just a little, would she not have jumped?
He didn't know.
He had no chance to prove this unlikely thought.
Dylan watched quietly, noticing that Isabella's skin had more corpse spots than before.
And obvious sunken areas had appeared.
It seemed the potion couldn't stop the decay.
William turned and walked toward Juniper's cage.
Juniper was curled up in the far corner. Hearing footsteps, her whole body trembled.
She knew the blade was about to fall.
She would lose her ears and become even less human.
William opened the cage door and dragged her out.
A dog leash around her neck, she was forced to kneel on the ground, face pressed to the floor.
"Rusty," William crouched down, "aren't you looking forward to this?"
Juniper's tears flowed out.
She saw William take a knife from Dylan's hand.
The blade glinted cold in the sunlight.
Juniper shook her head desperately, making muffled sounds in her throat.
William grabbed her head, and the blade pressed against her left ear.
One cut.
Juniper's scream stuck in her throat, turning into a muffled groan.
Blood gushed out, running down her cheek.
William threw the piece of flesh on the ground.
Then he turned to the right ear.
Another cut.
Juniper shook violently in pain, like her whole body was spasming, or like she was going through withdrawal.
William picked up both ears and stared at the top of her head for a long time.
He realized the hair wasn't shaved clean enough—the stitching wouldn't be stable.
He had prepared everything but overlooked this detail.
He had two guards shave Juniper's head again.
The blade scraped against her scalp, like processing an animal at a slaughterhouse.
Juniper almost forgot about the pain in her scalp.
After losing both ears, flesh separated from bone, warm blood against both sides of her face.
The pain nearly made her pass out.
But just as she was about to faint, someone would touch her ear wounds, jolting her awake with pain, over and over.
Just to keep her conscious.
Until her scalp was completely bare, like stripped leather.
William picked up a needle and thread.
The needle pierced her scalp.
Juniper let out a tearing scream.
That sound wasn't human—more like the last cry of a dying animal.
The needle and thread moved across her scalp, each stitch drawing blood.
William's hand wasn't steady, the stitches crooked, some deep, some shallow.
Juniper's screams came one after another, finally turning into hoarse wailing.
After finishing the left side, he moved to the right.
Blood covered her face, flowing into her eyes, into her mouth.
William stepped back, examining his own work.
Two ears sat crookedly on top of her head, like two pieces of rotting flesh.
He frowned.
"Too ugly."
He reached out and suddenly grabbed those two ears, yanking them off with force.
Juniper's scream shifted pitch.
Blood sprayed out. The now bare scalp bled profusely.
Like a failed surgery where the doctor removed the stitches.
Juniper collapsed on the ground, convulsing, unable to make a sound.
William threw down the needle and thread.
"I can't even do this right."
His voice was dull, carrying self-blame and a kind of self-loathing.
"I can't do anything right."
Dylan stepped forward and said softly, "Mr. Spencer, I'll ice them first. This afternoon we'll find a doctor—they'll stitch them more neatly."
William nodded, his silence indicating agreement.
Dylan picked up both ears, wrapped them in cloth, and placed them in an icebox.
Juniper lay on the ground, blood still flowing.
Her eyes were half-open, pupils unfocused.
She could no longer feel the pain.
Or rather, she no longer remembered what pain was.
Isla watched all this from inside her cage.
Her lips were moving, her lower lip bitten and bloody.
Her hands gripped the iron bars tightly, knuckles white.
Her eyes no longer blinked.
William stood up.
He looked at his own hands, covered in blood.
With annoyance and disgust.
How could such hands still touch Isabella?
They would dirty her.
He walked to the water basin and put his hands in.
After washing several times, his hands were pruned.
William still felt they weren't clean.
He had Dylan change to a basin of alcohol.
The sharp stinging pain actually gave him peace of mind.
Then he had Dylan switch to disinfectant.
A more insane thought flashed through his mind—switch to sulfuric acid to burn away the filth on his hands.
But Dylan talked him out of it.
"Mr. Spencer, if your hands are injured, how will you personally punish those who hurt Ms. Tudor?"
He stopped washing and turned to look at Isla.
Isla cowered in the cage, trembling all over, muttering under her breath.
"Devil... devil..."
William walked over and crouched in front of her.
"Devil?"
He stared into Isla's eyes.
"I heard Jesus can cast out demons."
A new idea formed in his mind.
"How about I nail you to a cross?"