Petunia's birthday celebration had seemed to drag on for ever, although Elizabeth had sneakily managed to escape the festivity with only a furtive glance around before creeping up to the nursery, and from there into her calm, book-filled room. As soon as she had done all that, she scanned her special bookshelf and carefully lowered her new edition of 'A Christmas Carol'. Cautiously, she opened the front cover,and delved into the story.
She did not know how long she had been asleep for- but what she did know was that there was a fiery itchiness in the bottom of her throat. It was scorching her tongue, burning her neck, reaching up with fiery tongues to embrace her already sweltering forehead. She was ready to die, and could just see her lonely grave on the corner of the cemetery, a dreadful necropolis which would turn afterlife, if there was one, into the bloody pit of hell.
Before she knew it, she had staggered onto her feet and heaved herself towards the doorway. It was so close, yet it seemed so distant. It was just a step away, yet that step seemed to last an age. Finally she stretched and unsteadily grasped the door knob, breathing a sigh of relief. The next step made the walk to the door seem like an easy task, but after many failed tries, she managed to pull the heavy oak door open a crack and then wrenched it back completely, heaving herself out just in time. One more second, and she would have been crushed by a mixture of wood and gold, although, thinking it through well, that way she would have been completely relieved of the burning, which was now creeping into the rest of her body, manipulating her, making her sway this way and that.
Unsteadily, but surely, she managed to make her way across the corridoor and weakly knocked on Ellen's door. It took quite a few tries, but in the end the nursemaid sauntered out of her room and marched Elizabeth down the corridor and up the stairs into the infirmary.
Involuntarily, Ellen stayed awake all night and insisited she dipped her feet in hot water every half hour, dabbing a moist cloth on her forehead and obliging her to sip water, even though this just increased the burning, and her thirst seemed like it could never be quenched.
