Chapter 1 - The Rim of the Crystal
The crystal chandelier hummed.
It cast a heavy, suffocating amber glow across the imported Italian marble of the hallway.
Eleanor’s fingers were bone-white.
Her manicured nails, painted a severe, glossy black, clamped around the fragile rim of a crystal shot glass.
Inside the glass, a thick, emerald-green liquid sloshed lazily against the edges.
It smelled of burnt copper and crushed bitter roots.
She leaned forward.
The fabric of her solid black dress did not stretch; it hung like an executioner's drape over her rigid shoulders.
Her black pearl earrings swung forward, catching the warm light and turning it cold.
Clara’s spine pressed flush against the black leather of the wheelchair.
Her breathing was a shallow, ragged flutter trapped in the hollow of her throat.
The delicate beige lace of her maternity dress bunched over the swell of her stomach.
Her knuckles gripped the rubber armrests.
The rubber squeaked under the wet sweat of her palms.
Eleanor’s left hand shot out.
Her thumb and index finger locked around Clara’s jawline.
The older woman's grip was industrial, pressing into the soft skin until the white imprints of her fingers bloomed into violent red marks.
"Drink it!"
The words did not echo.
They sank into the heavy velvet drapes lining the corridor.
Eleanor tilted the glass.
The cold rim of the crystal chipped violently against Clara’s front teeth.
Clara squeezed her eyes shut.
Her eyelashes were clumped with wet, salty mascara.
She turned her head, but the vice grip on her jaw held her completely immobile.
May you like
The thick green liquid breached her bottom lip.
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