After the tense confrontation in the hallway, Claire had retreated to her room, her mind reeling from Delilah's accusations. She took a long, calming breath, determined not to let Delilah's venomous words ruin her day. She dressed carefully, choosing a simple yet elegant day dress of soft, flowing silk, its pale blue color a stark contrast to the storm brewing within the manor.
Feeling a sudden thirst, Claire decided to fetch a glass of water from the kitchen. The grand house felt eerily quiet as she descended the stairs and made her way to the heart of the home. She walked directly to the large, gleaming refrigerator, pulled out a crystal pitcher of chilled water, and poured herself a glass. It wasn't until she turned around, the cool glass in her hand, that she realized she was not alone.
Delilah was standing silently in the doorway, her figure framed against the brighter light of the hall. Her eyes, usually sharp with disdain, were now clouded with a dark, gloomy intensity, fixed solely on Claire. A shiver ran down Claire's spine, a primal unease at the sheer malevolence in Delilah's gaze. Creeped out by Delilah's unsettling stare, Claire's attention was so focused on the unsettling look that she didn't even notice Delilah was holding a large, silver kettle, its handle glinting faintly in the morning light.
Just when Claire was about to speak, to break the chilling silence, Delilah's hand moved. With a sudden, deliberate motion, she raised the kettle, tilting it in Claire's direction. Claire, with her keen eye and quick reflexes, noticed it immediately: a faint wisp of water vapor, almost invisible, still curling from the kettle's spout. A cold dread gripped her. She surmised instantly that the content in it must be water that had just been boiled.
Her instincts screamed. Claire took a few frantic steps backward, trying desperately to move away from Delilah, to create distance. But Delilah was faster, closing in with a terrifying swiftness. Before Claire could fully react, Delilah deliberately poured the boiling water from the kettle directly onto Claire's dress, aiming for her legs.
For an instant, Claire felt as if both her legs had been plunged into molten lava. The searing, unimaginable heat caused her to shudder violently, a guttural gasp escaping her lips before it morphed into a piercing shriek of pure agony. The pain was immediate, intense, and overwhelming.
Overwhelmed by the blinding pain, her legs trembling uncontrollably from the scalding heat, Claire instinctively extended her arms, pushing forward with all her might, intending to shove Delilah away. Yet, in her agony and disoriented state, her outstretched hands didn't even make contact. She was too far, too unsteady.
But then, to Claire's stunned disbelief, Delilah staggered backward with an exaggerated gasp, her balance seemingly lost. With a loud, dramatic thud, the silver kettle she was still holding crashed onto the polished kitchen floor, sending a fresh splash of its remaining hot water splattering onto Delilah's own exposed arm.
"Aaah!" Delilah wailed, a shrill cry of genuine agony that echoed through the otherwise silent manor, a stark contrast to Claire's own stifled shriek. The tables had turned, and the kitchen, moments ago a scene of quiet domesticity, was now a tableau of pain and simmering malice.
The commotion, sharp and alarming, immediately drew attention. A few housekeepers, who had been going about their morning duties in nearby areas – perhaps polishing silverware in the dining room or arranging flowers in the foyer – hurried over, their expressions shifting from curiosity to alarm. They rushed towards the source of the noise, their footsteps quickening as they neared the kitchen.
Upon bursting through the kitchen doorway, they were met with a scene that froze them in their tracks. Claire stood trembling, her beautiful silk dress clinging to her scalded legs, the fabric already darkening with dampness, her face contorted in a silent battle against excruciating pain.
Opposite her, Delilah was sprawled on the polished floor, the overturned kettle a few feet away, her arm clutched tightly, her face pale and twisted in a mixture of shock and genuine agony from the hot water that had splattered on her. The air hung heavy with the smell of burnt skin and the lingering heat of boiling water.
The housekeepers, accustomed to the elegant order of the Sterling home, were so utterly bewildered and frightened by the sight that none of them knew what to do. Their eyes darted between the two women, their minds struggling to process the sudden, violent turn of events. A collective gasp rippled through them.
Then, one of the younger housekeepers, a woman named Sarah, who possessed a keen eye for detail even in moments of panic, let out a choked sound. Her gaze, wide with horror, had fallen upon Delilah's leg. "B-Blood..." she stammered, her voice barely a whisper, laced with pure terror. Her finger, trembling uncontrollably, pointed towards Delilah's calf. A thin, crimson trickle was slowly winding its way down Delilah's pale skin, a stark contrast against the light fabric of her morning gown. As Sarah pointed, her face was ghost-white, drained of all color, and she seemed as if she would collapse by the next moment, her knees threatening to buckle beneath her. The sight of blood, unexpected and shocking, elevated the chaotic scene to a new level of alarming emergency.
"Aaah!" Delilah's piercing wail of agony ripped through the morning quiet of the Sterling manor, a stark, unexpected sound that shattered the serene atmosphere. The crash of the kettle on the marble floor added to the sudden cacophony, sending echoes through the usually hushed hallways.
The commotion, sharp and alarming, immediately drew attention. A few housekeepers, who had been going about their morning duties in nearby areas – perhaps polishing silverware in the dining room or arranging flowers in the foyer – hurried over, their expressions shifting from curiosity to alarm. They rushed towards the source of the noise, their footsteps quickening as they neared the kitchen.
Upon bursting through the kitchen doorway, they were met with a scene that froze them in their tracks. Claire stood trembling, her beautiful silk dress clinging to her scalded legs, the fabric already darkening with dampness, her face contorted in a silent battle against excruciating pain. Opposite her, Delilah was sprawled on the polished floor, the overturned kettle a few feet away, her arm clutched tightly, her face pale and twisted in a mixture of shock and genuine agony from the hot water that had splattered on her. The air hung heavy with the smell of burnt skin and the lingering heat of boiling water.
The housekeepers, accustomed to the elegant order of the Sterling home, were so utterly bewildered and frightened by the sight that none of them knew what to do. Their eyes darted between the two women, their minds struggling to process the sudden, violent turn of events. A collective gasp rippled through them.
Then, one of the younger housekeepers, a woman named Sarah, who possessed a keen eye for detail even in moments of panic, let out a choked sound. Her gaze, wide with horror, had fallen upon Delilah's leg. "B-Blood..." she stammered, her voice barely a whisper, laced with pure terror. Her finger, trembling uncontrollably, pointed towards Delilah's calf. A thin, crimson trickle was slowly winding its way down Delilah's pale skin, a stark contrast against the light fabric of her morning gown. As Sarah pointed, her face was ghost-white, drained of all color, and she seemed as if she would collapse by the next moment, her knees threatening to buckle beneath her. The sight of blood, unexpected and shocking, elevated the chaotic scene to a new level of alarming emergency.
"Quick! Call someone!" one of the housekeepers finally managed to gasp, her voice cracking with urgency. As soon as the words left her lips, the spell of shock seemed to break.
Another housekeeper, a stout woman named Mrs. Gable, immediately spun on her heel and rushed towards the nearest telephone, her heavy footsteps echoing down the hall as she hurried to call the family doctor.
The other two housekeepers, still trembling, began to cautiously approach Delilah, their faces etched with concern, about to offer what little help they could. But before they could reach her, a tall, imposing figure suddenly appeared in the kitchen doorway. It was Alexander Sterling, drawn back by the unusual commotion. He marched over, his stride long and powerful, pushing the housekeepers aside without a word, his focus entirely on the scene before him.
When Alexander's eyes finally landed on Delilah, sprawled on the floor amidst the spilled water and the overturned kettle, his pupils contracted sharply, a primal fear seizing his features. His breath hitched. The sight of his sister, pale and injured, sent a jolt of terror through him.
"What happened?" he demanded, his voice tight with urgency, a raw edge of panic in his tone. He entered the pantry with haste, dropping to one knee beside Delilah. His movements, usually so precise and controlled, were now imbued with a desperate tenderness as he carefully, gently, lifted Delilah into his arms, his gaze sweeping over her, searching for the extent of her injuries. Claire, still standing nearby, trembling and in pain herself, felt a fresh wave of despair wash over her as Alexander's attention was entirely consumed by his sister.