Chapter 21 Sudden Inferno
Caroline stared at the blood on her palm for a long time.
The red blurred before her eyes, spreading and twisting until it became nothing but spinning shadows.
She realized, suddenly, that she could no longer tell colors apart.
It is said that at the end of life, the pupils dilate. Everything—the world, the objects, even the people you love most—fades into nothing.
Caroline did not know how much longer she had, but she could feel it. Something inside her was breaking down, piece by piece.
One day, this body would be shoved into a cremation furnace. Reduced to a handful of cold ash. Dumped in a trash bin, or forgotten in some unmarked corner.
Either way, the world would hold no trace of her.
She slowly closed her hand, using her clean fingertips to wipe away the stain.
The metallic taste in her throat was swallowed down, leaving behind the flavor of rust that lingered in her mouth.
No one noticed she had coughed up blood. She did not want anyone to notice.
The days fell into a mechanical loop, as if time itself had fractured.
The guards still stood outside her door. They brought water, brought food, watched her when she used the bathroom.
The maid came every day to change the sheets and clean the room.
The family doctor appeared like clockwork, checking her wounds, changing bandages, leaving behind fresh supplies.
He did not talk much. His eyes were complicated. Every time he touched the scars—new ones layered over old, angry and raw—he would frown, just barely, and then make his movements gentler.
Caroline noticed the difference. But she felt nothing.
Pity or disgust—it did not matter anymore.
Alexander never came back.
The diary he had taken was gone. No word. No sign.
The apartment was oppressively quiet—not peaceful, but the kind of silence that comes before a storm.
Caroline ate less and less. The meals brought to her were often taken away untouched.
She barely drank water. Her lips were cracked and dry. Her throat felt scorched. Sometimes she coughed, and more blood would appear in her palm. She would wipe it away in silence.
The only thing that stirred any reaction in her was when the doctor unwrapped the bandages and revealed the wounds she had carved into her own skin.
Some had scabbed over. Others still wept fluid, their edges red and swollen.
Looking at those scars brought a twisted kind of calm. As if the pain on the outside could somehow offset the guilt on the inside.
Finally, the doctor broke.
After another round of bandage changes, he left behind a small bottle of prescription sleeping pills.
"This is all I can bring you," he said quietly. "Ma'am, you need to sleep. I'm sorry. This is all I can do."
Something flickered in Caroline's eyes.
She turned her stiff neck slowly, looking at him.
So she could still hear the word "sorry" in this life.
Just not from the people who owed it to her.
She forced her dry throat to work, squeezing out two words. "Thank you…"
She thought, yes. She really did need to sleep.
Caroline took the pills. Her eyes closed almost immediately.
The medication hit fast. Her nerves went slack. The painful memories and the cold reality receded, as if they had never existed at all.
More accurately, as if she had never existed at all.
No sorrow. No joy. No pain. No despair.
The sleep was so deep that when she smelled the acrid scent creeping into her nose, she thought it was a dream.
She opened her eyes slowly. Consciousness crawled back.
The smell was faint at first. So faint it could have been nothing.
But it grew stronger. Sharper. Chemical.
Caroline's unfocused gaze snapped into clarity.
She sat up instinctively, her body tense. She sniffed the air.
Not a dream.
The burning smell thickened. Thin wisps of gray-white smoke began curling under the door.
"Fire!" Caroline's voice came out hoarse and cracked.
The guard at the door noticed it too.
He whipped around toward the hallway. Thick smoke was rolling toward them, swallowing the corridor in seconds.
"Fire! There's a fire!" the guard shouted, coughing violently.
"Someone! Anyone! Open the door!"
Strangely, the maids who were usually everywhere were nowhere to be seen. Only two appeared after his shouts, and they froze in panic before rushing off to find fire extinguishers.
But the fire spread too fast. Before they could return, the flames had already reached the room next to Caroline's.
Her room had been partitioned off from the adjacent one. The wall between them was thin.
Within moments, the guard saw smoke pouring out from under Caroline's door.
Inside, her cries for help were getting weaker.
The guard fumbled for the door handle, then remembered—the key was only delivered at specific times by the butler.
He tried to force it open with his bare hands, but the metal was scorching hot. He jerked back with a yelp.
Inside, Caroline was choking, tears streaming down her face. She rolled off the bed onto the floor.
The air was slightly better down there, but smoke still flooded her nose and mouth.
"Open the door…" she begged weakly.
Outside, the guard was coughing just as hard.
There was no time to find the key. He tried ramming the door with his shoulder, but the heavy oak did not budge.
He looked around frantically for something to break it down with, but the fire was closing in.
The guard's hands shook. Instinct overrode duty.
Alexander hated this woman anyway. If she died in a fire—an accident—no one would blame him. Right?
He did not have time to think it through.
He muttered a quick "Sorry" toward the door and bolted.
Caroline did not realize the guard had left. She lay on the floor, her lungs burning, her vision going black in waves.
Instinct drove her forward. She crawled toward the door, inch by agonizing inch.
When she finally reached it, she stretched out her hand to grab the handle.
The metal seared her skin. She screamed and yanked her hand back.
But the pain jolted something loose in her mind.
The diary.