Spring's Hiding in the Foggy Courtyard

The taillights had just vanished from sight when the pain exploded inside Savannah—vicious, complete. Sweat soaked her clothes in an instant; thick, dark blood began pouring from her nose and the corners of her mouth.

Biting down on her tongue until she tasted blood, she used the sharp pain to claw her way back to awareness. Then, inch by agonizing inch, she dragged herself toward the rock that had gashed her knee. She began sawing the rope against its jagged edge.

Time crawled. When the rope finally gave way, her hands were a mess of cuts and raw flesh.

She tried to push herself up, to stumble toward the main road for help.

Two steps. Then her legs gave out completely, dropping her into the dirt.

Still, she didn’t stop. She crawled. Hand over bleeding hand, knees scraping over sharp stones that sliced her skin and tore her nails. Jaw clenched until it ached, she dragged herself forward—one desperate inch at a time.

She didn’t know how long she crawled. Was she even still alive? Maybe she was already a vengeful ghost, refusing to be buried in this place.

Then, through the haze, voices. Human voices. Only then did the last shred of tension leave her body, and she fell into blackness.

When she woke, every wound had been meticulously treated.

Zachary sat in a chair by the hospital bed, peeling an apple. The long, unbroken peel spiraled down—a pointless, graceful exercise from a man who had all the time in the world while she lay broken.

Before Angela appeared, this was how he’d always kept her company in the hospital.

“It was Angela. She poisoned me. The poison was a white powder, hidden in her ring.”

Her throat felt scorched. Her voice came out low, raspy, utterly unfamiliar. A wave of despair hit her: she’d never be able to host again.

“Savannah, you didn’t used to lie to me.” Zachary sighed softly, cutting a piece of the snow-white apple and holding it to her lips. “I know you’ve misunderstood my relationship with Angela, but to frame her, you’d risk your life eating poisonous mushrooms? That’s going too far.”

Savannah didn’t open her mouth. She just stared at him. “I didn’t eat any mushrooms. Angela poisoned me. Have her silver ring tested. You’ll see I’m telling the truth.”

“That doesn’t matter now. You’re fine. What matters is that because of you, a lot of people online think Angela is a fraud. I need you to go live, right now, and clear her name.”

“Doesn’t *matter*? I almost died! How can that not matter? ‘Clear her name’? She *is* a fraud. Why would I do that? She burned down my family home. She poisoned me. I will *never* let her get away with this.”

“Savannah, when did you become so unreasonable? I’ve told you, Angela is trying to help us!”

Zachary sighed like a man pushed to his limit and handed her a file. Savannah took it hesitantly, flipping it open. Her breath caught. Inside were vile slanders against her parents, painting her lifelong philanthropist parents—who had died tragically young—as fame-hungry hypocrites. Forged documents, photos, all meticulously crafted to look devastatingly real.

Anyone who didn’t know the truth would believe every word.

“If you don’t clear Angela’s name,” Zachary said, his voice gentle, “I’ll have no choice but to release this file online.”

He reached out, his thumb brushing a tear from her cheek she hadn’t even felt fall. “Savannah, you’re forcing my hand.”