Escape from the Snake Pit

I collapsed to the kitchen floor, a scream tearing from my throat as searing pain ripped across my chest and arms. The knife I'd been using to chop vegetables clattered against the stone tiles. Blood—my blood—seeped through the fabric of my dress, creating dark crimson patterns that spread like spilled wine.

"Lady Elaine!" Martha, one of the kitchen servants, rushed to my side, her eyes wide with horror. "What happened? Did you cut yourself?"

I couldn't answer. The agony was too intense, stealing my breath and clouding my vision. This wasn't the first time, but it was certainly among the worst. Somewhere on a battlefield miles away, my husband Logan Parker was bleeding from fresh wounds—and through our cursed bond, I felt every slash and stab as if they were inflicted upon my own flesh.

"Get help!" Martha called to another servant. "Quickly!"

I curled into myself, trembling as wave after wave of pain washed over me. The empathy curse that bound me to Logan was our wedding gift—though only I knew of its existence. My family had offered me as a "living charm" to the war hero, a mystical talisman to bring him good fortune in battle. What they hadn't mentioned was that I would bear the physical cost of that protection.

"He's... wounded again," I managed to whisper through clenched teeth.

Martha's face softened with pity. She had witnessed these episodes before, though like everyone else, she believed them to be some strange affliction of mine rather than the supernatural consequence of my husband's military exploits.

"Let's get you to your chambers, my lady," she said gently, helping me to my feet.

The journey to my bedroom was excruciating. Each step sent fresh jolts of pain through my body. By the time Martha and another servant laid me on my bed, my dress was soaked with blood that had no source—no visible wounds, only the phantom agony of injuries sustained by a man who had never shown me an ounce of kindness.

---

Three days later, I was still bedridden, the phantom wounds slowly healing just as Logan's real ones would be. I had learned from the servants that my husband had indeed returned from battle, severely wounded across his chest and arms—exactly where I had felt the pain.

I heard his footsteps in the hallway outside my chamber and tensed, wondering if perhaps this time he might visit, might show some concern for my condition. But the footsteps continued past my door without hesitation, their confident rhythm telling me he was fully recovered while I still suffered.

Later that afternoon, I forced myself to rise. The pain had subsided enough that I could move, though each motion remained a careful negotiation with my body. I needed air. The walls of my chamber felt like they were closing in on me after days of confinement.

I made my way slowly to the garden, leaning heavily against the stone balustrade as I descended the steps. The fresh air was a small mercy, though even the light weight of my shawl against my skin felt abrasive on my phantom wounds.

That's when I saw them through the rose arbor—Logan and Celine. My husband stood close to his mistress, his hands cupping her face with a tenderness he had never shown me. From my position, I could see the glint of something green and luminous as he lifted it between them.

"A healing jade," I whispered in disbelief.

The pendant was legendary among those with knowledge of mystical artifacts. It could ease supernatural suffering and protect against curses—exactly what I needed most. And Logan was fastening it around Celine's slender neck.

"You are my good fortune," I heard him say, his voice carrying on the breeze. "Everything bright in my life comes from you."

Celine's delicate laugh floated through the garden. "And what of your wife? I heard she fell ill again while you were away."

Logan's shoulders stiffened slightly. "Elaine brings nothing but bad luck to this household. She's naturally weak—always has been. I fulfilled my obligation by marrying her, but I won't pretend there's anything more to it than that."

I gripped the balustrade tighter, my knuckles turning white. The casual cruelty of his words hurt more than the phantom wounds I bore for him.

As I turned to retreat to my chambers, I caught sight of Celine looking directly at me over Logan's shoulder. For just a moment, her mask of sweetness slipped, revealing something cold and calculating in her eyes before she quickly resumed her gentle expression.

A chill ran down my spine that had nothing to do with my weakened state. In that brief glance, I recognized something I had missed before—the look of a predator assessing its prey.