Chapter 4 - Sparks in the Cold
By Thursday evening, Eleanor felt as though her body was caught in a quiet, invisible war.
She had flushed every capsule down the toilet for three straight nights, faking sleep whenever Nurse Higgins checked on her. Just as Leo had warned, the agony began on the second day.
It started as an agonizing, cold itch deep inside her thighs, escalating into a fiery, prickling sensation that made her want to scream into her mattress. Her calves throbbed; her toes felt as if they were being pricked by thousands of hot copper pins. It was excruciating, but to Eleanor, every throb of pain was a glorious, undeniable signal of life returning to deadened limbs.
She sat in her wheelchair in the grand library, staring at the towering rows of leather-bound books. Her father sat across the room at his massive mahogany desk, tapping away on a laptop, his face lit by the cold glow of the screen.
"Father?" Eleanor spoke up, her voice steady despite the intense pain radiating down her spine.
William looked up, his expression softening into his practiced, paternal smile. "Yes, my darling? Are you feeling alright? You look a bit flushed today."
"I was thinking about the boy from the gala," she said carefully, watching his eyes for any slip in control.
William’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, his eyes hardening into flint. He closed his laptop halfway. "I told you, Eleanor. He was a disturbed young man looking for publicity. Security dealt with him. You shouldn't waste your thoughts on trash like that."
"He knew about Mother’s key," she pressed gently, her heart racing. "He mentioned a music box."
William stood up slowly, pushing his chair back. The air in the library grew dense, suffocating. He walked around the desk and stood beside her, placing a heavy, cold hand on her shoulder.
"Your mother was an unstable woman, Eleanor," William said, his voice dropping into a low, terrifyingly calm register. "She left us because she couldn't handle the responsibilities of this family. I have spent my entire life protecting you from the mess she left behind. Do you doubt my love for you?"
"No, Father," Eleanor lied, forcing herself to look directly into his cold, calculating eyes.
"Good," William said, patting her shoulder with chilling affection. "Because doctor recommendations came in earlier than expected. We are flying to Zurich on Saturday morning. A private medical jet has already been chartered. You will finally get the peace you deserve."
Saturday morning.
That left her only thirty-six hours.
That night, as the grandfather clock in the main hall struck twelve times, Eleanor waited until the entire mansion went silent. She pulled back her silk bedsheets.
Sweat broke out across her forehead as she braced her hands against the armrests of her wheelchair. She dragged her feet down to the floor plates. Pain flared through her legs like liquid fire, making her gasp.
I can help her stand. Leo’s voice echoed in her mind, a beacon cutting through the dark.
She pushed with her arms, transferring all her strength to her upper body, and then, for the first time in seven years, she pushed through her heels.
Her knees buckled instantly, trembling violently like thin branches in a storm. She collapsed forward onto the soft carpet with a muffled thump, gasping for air, her heart pounding against her ribs. Tears of frustration and physical pain filled her eyes.
"Come on," she whispered to herself, pressing her palms against the floorboards. "Come on!"
She dragged herself up again, gripping the edge of her heavy oak bedframe. Her legs wobbled, numb yet agonizingly sensitive all at once. She straightened her spine. Her weight shifted onto her feet.
She stood.
May you like
It lasted for barely three seconds before her knees gave out again and she sank back down, but it was real. She had stood on her own two feet.
The lie was broken.
