AN ENCHANTER'S FORETELLING. [NARNIA]

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT | BLOOM

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
BLOOM

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She was met with the comforts of a warm bed rather than the cold floor on which she had collapsed. Her pounding head rested atop soft pillows, and her body was wrapped in tight blankets like a cocoon; her amber eyes slowly fluttered open to meet the blinding sun rays pooling in the room through the diamond-shaped windows. A brisk wind circled in the room, and for once, she was grateful to be trapped under the blanket's comforting arms.

Rose could not remember anything from the jolly night prior, or rather, anything after she had collapsed. There had been a celebration, merry laughter, dancing, and graceful tunes, and after the floor had given out beneath her, there was nothing; like she had fallen into an everlasting slumber. Thus, the morning preceding the ball, she awoke to the sound of a door closing and a series of footsteps becoming a mere whisper in the wind.

She looked to the side of what seemed to be the infirmary, her head and temples going on a spiral when she did. A small, book with a rather worn-out cover sat atop a makeshift bedside table, and a chair rested close to it. The creases of the fabric confirmed her suspicion that someone had stayed sat there with her. Not to mention, a jug of water sitting on the stone floor next to it.

The lady raked her mind, searching for a clue that would tell her why she'd fainted so suddenly; everything she had done the night prior raced through her worn mind. She conversed with lords, danced, consumed the sweet delicacies, and nothing led to a conclusion as to what had made her faint... Unless... I mean, she did remember walking over to the table of refreshments along with dear Edmund Pevensie, and drank some sort of liquid that made her mouth taste like the medicine her mother would give her. But she supposed it had been the same drink Edmund had consumed.

"Was I..." Poisoned? She couldn't finish her sentence, her own voice seemed to burn her throat as she spoke, and the taste of bile almost rose to her mouth. "No... I—I couldn't have been," she spoke to herself again. But perhaps. Rose did not wish to believe it, but she supposed it made sense. Oh, but, it was simply not possible, or so she told herself, because if it was, how on earth would she even be here? Alive and breathing? Although, Lucy could have given her a drop of her cordial, despite her previous protests of never using it with her. By Jove, it did make sense.

Now, the bigger question would be: who would even try to poison her? At a social event, no less. It was like they knew she would be there, that she would take that precise goblet, or perhaps, all of them had a drop of the venom hers had. But then again, Edmund had taken one of the goblets prior her fall, so it could not be that. So who?

She would try to solve the newly-found mystery if it wasn't for the door of the infirmary opening and closing so gently. It's old, creaking hinges brought her out of her train of thoughts, and she let herself fall back on the soft pillows as though she'd been asleep all along.