Lord Theodore's Favorite Ritual
Chapter 111: Chaos And Devastation.

Chapter 111: Chaos And Devastation.

Dear Critic.

Chaos Chaos Chaos

I see a lot of mayhem about to befall in Critic Arley, may the lord bless your houses.

And as we talk about chaos, the matter of Baroness Vera has been finalized. The Baron no longer wants for her and she is now in the streets. Whatever it is she has done, I hope none of you repeat it too.

Devastation is coming for all those ladies who had forsaken the Critic Arley monthly ritual.

I warned you.

The men who were redirected to do community development have been pardoned as they now regret their actions, and were completely unable to deliver the eyewitness. He was only drunk and they had fallen for his spoken fears.

I shall not leave this paper with only a series of bad news and scary promises so I have this bright news for you; Soon businesses shall be created, opened and invested in Crotic Arley so as we wait for those businesses let us hope the ones we have been hoping to staff finally blooms this month.

Perhaps I can help publicize some businesses.

Yours observing,

Muckraker.

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(TRIGGER WARNING: THIS EPISODE MIGHT BE SENSITIVE, IT HAS A TOPIC OF MISCARRIAGE, READ AT YOUR OWN ACCORD)

Midnight.

Bedroom, Theodore Mansion.

Critic Arley, Critic-Ishire.

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As the clock struck midnight, the mansion lay still, enveloped in an eerie silence broken only by the occasional creak of floorboards. Lydia woke up that night and there was no water in the room, this only made her realize that it was Theodore who kept water in the room for her nightly drinks and not the maids.

They had helped her get ready for bed after dinner but small things like this are important too, she sighed heavily as she felt lightheaded and slow but thirsty.

She took a robe and draped it onto her shoulder before moving forward towards the doors for the kitchen.

Despite how sleepy she felt she glided down the grand staircase with an air of quiet determination.

She looked at the walls and thought about how a painting of her and Theodore would do beautifully on these walls.

Lydia is clad in a flowing nightgown, and she moves with graceful steps, her bare feet making no sound against the polished marble floors.

She reached and entered the vast kitchen. It is bathed in the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the windows, she approached the water barrel with purpose.

She picked a cup and dipped it in to fetch fresh water.

The gentle sound of the cup sinking into the water filled the room as she filled a delicate porcelain cup with cool water, its surface shimmering in the dim light when she pulled it out.

She took hungry gulps and sighed in relief after almost emptying the cup, it tasted different but it quenched her thirst.

She dipped the cup back in and retrieved a full cup again, then the cup became cradled delicately in her hands, as she retraced her steps, ascending the staircase with silent precision.

Each step seemed to echo in the hushed stillness of the night as she made her way back to the opulent confines of her bedroom.

As she returned to her sanctuary, she settled into the plush comfort of her bed, savouring the refreshing sip of water before placing the cup on the ornate bedside table.

With a contented sigh, she closed her eyes, the tranquil night enveloping her once more as she drifted back into slumber.

But soon Lydia jolted and awoke, In the hushed confines of her dimly lit room, She was wrapped in the embrace of silken sheets, she laid still on her bed, her features that had been radiant after drinking water was now contorted in a mask of pain and discomfort.

At first, it started as there was only a faint whisper of discomfort, a subtle tightening of her abdominal muscles, scarcely noticeable amidst the tumult of thoughts and dreams that danced through her mind in its sleepy haze.

But as the minutes wore on, the sensation grew, the pain intensifying as though her abdomen was intending to tear apart or squeeze into itself. The agony was swelling into a crescendo that threatened to engulf her whole being.

She shifted uncomfortably because with each passing moment, the pain intensified, a relentless tide of torment that ebbed and flowed with merciless precision in her stomach.

Her forehead glistened with sweat.

And as she clutched at the bedclothes, her knuckles white with exertion, she felt the first fluttering stirrings of dread deep within her soul.

She gasped when it felt as though a hundred tiny needles were being stabbed into her abdomen.

Then, like a cruel symphony reaching its crescendo, the suffering peaked, a searing lance of pain that tore through her with the force of a tempest unleashed.

At that moment, time seemed to stand still, the world reduced to a singular, agonizing point of focus as her body convulsed in a silent scream of anguish.

She felt liquid pool under her night dress seeping out of her and then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over.

The pain receded slowly, leaving behind only an empty void, a gaping wound in the fabric of her being that could never be fully healed.

And as she lay there on her bed, shelled out and broken, tears streamed down her cheeks like silent rivers of sorrow, each drop a testament to the profound loss that had befallen her.

In the stillness of the room, there was only the sound of her ragged breath and the distant murmur of the world outside.

And as she closed her eyes against the cruel day, she knew that nothing would ever be the same again. For in that moment, she had lost not only a child but a piece of her own soul, forever consigned to the depths of an unfathomable grief.

She let out an agonizing cry before succumbing to darkness.

Her world just shattered in a silent crescendo of grief and anguish.

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