Rosie's Games

"Duchess, what is going on?" General Lytton's face contorted with anger and concern as he stared at his soldier inside the prison. The frigid air in the northern place seemed to mirror the frosty atmosphere surrounding them.

Since they had no way of isolating the soldiers, they resorted to confining them inside the cramped garrisons, hoping to contain whatever mysterious affliction plagued them.

Rosalind, furrowed her brow, her lips thinning as she cast her gaze upon the five men imprisoned before her. The prison cells were already small to begin with. It barely accommodated its current occupants.

"When did this start?" she inquired, her voice laced with a mix of worry and authority.

"In the afternoon, Your Grace," General Lytton replied, his voice heavy with frustration. "They began complaining of illness, but we dismissed it as nothing more than a passing ailment. However, more soldiers have come forward, all experiencing the same symptoms. That's when we realized the gravity of the situation. Sir Denys was immediately informed, and he ordered us to move all the affected personnel into the garrisons."

Rosalind's eyes darted around the room, searching for answers. "And where is Sir Denys now?" she pressed, her tone demanding.

"He is preparing a more suitable location to accommodate those who have fallen ill," the General informed her.

"How many people have been affected so far?" Rosalind's voice trembled slightly, betraying her growing concern.

"Approximately thirty, Your Grace," the General responded, his voice filled with a mixture of trepidation and despair. "And...and the numbers are increasing."

A wave of despair washed over Rosalind, her expression contorting with worry. If this relentless spread continued, it would pose a grave threat to the stability of their stronghold.

"Duchess," a familiar voice called out, drawing Rosalind's attention. It was Sir Bohan, a member of the influential Bohan Family, known for their prowess in assassinations and covert operations.

"More soldiers are experiencing the same symptoms," Sir Bohan's usually calm voice quivered, "but we have exhausted all available space to house them. The infirmary is overwhelmed, and even the prisons are bursting at the seams."

Rosalind's heart sank further upon witnessing the despair etched on Sir Bohan's face. She braced herself for the worst, dreading what he was about to reveal.

"What is it?" she implored, her voice laced with desperation when she notice his hesitation.

"Lady Dorothy, is currently in the infirmary, doing everything in her power to help. But even her vast knowledge and unwavering devotion to the goddess have proven ineffective," Sir Bohan confessed, his tone laden with a mixture of disbelief and sorrow.

Rosalind said nothing. She did not expect Dorothy to actually come at the gates at this time.

"Take me to the first ones who had the symptoms..." Rosalind ordered. General Lytton and Sir Bohan immediately nodded in agreement and led her swiftly to the infirmary where the afflicted soldiers lay, their bodies rendered motionless.

"It has only been a matter of hours since they first experienced the symptoms..." General Lytton's voice trembled with a mixture of fear and confusion. "Sir Denys assured us it wouldn't progress this rapidly..."

As Rosalind entered the infirmary, Dorothy, greeted her with relief in her eyes. "Duchess, I am so glad you are here—"

"General, please escort everyone else outside," Rosalind interrupted Dorothy abruptly, her gaze fixated on the bedridden soldiers. She didn't spare Dorothy a single glance, her focus solely on the dire situation unfolding before her.

"I understand," the General responded without question.

"Including the medical staff," Rosalind added, her voice firm and resolute.

"Yes, Duchess," General Lytton complied, his tone indicating a mix of concern and understanding.

"Duchess... what are you doing?" Dorothy's brows furrowed in confusion. "These people need our help..."

"Including you, Lady Dorothy," Rosalind stated firmly, still refusing to acknowledge Dorothy's presence.

Feeling a surge of aggrievement, Dorothy instinctively reached out, grasping Rosalind's arm.

"Duchess, with all due respect, this is not the time to—" Dorothy was frowning.

"You are right, Lady Dorothy. This is not the time for personal conflicts," Rosalind interjected sternly, finally turning to face Dorothy.

Without waiting for a response, she turned her back on Dorothy, her attention fully captivated by the ailing soldiers lying before her.

At a loss for words, Dorothy could only stare at Rosalind's retreating figure as the Duchess carefully examined the first individuals afflicted by the rapid progression of the mysterious ailment.

"Lady Dorothy, please follow the others outside," General Lytton's voice broke through the silence, his tone tinged with a hint of sadness. Dorothy frowned, her mind filled with a mix of hurt and confusion. She had expected the people of the north to show gratitude for her presence, but instead, she encountered resistance and dismissal. It was a bitter realization that left a sour taste in her mouth.

Reluctantly, Dorothy complied, trailing behind the rest of the medical team as they exited the infirmary. Her thoughts swirled with frustration and disappointment.

How could the people of the North treat her like this? After all, she had come to their aid, eager to help. It seemed the complexity of human nature knew no bounds.

Seeking solace and understanding, Dorothy approached one of the medical personnel outside. "What do you think the Duchess will do?" she inquired, curiosity laced her gaze.

"Only the Duchess knows," the woman responded coldly, her eyes conveying a steadfast loyalty to their leaders.

A flicker of annoyance crossed Dorothy's face. "Are you not curious?" she pressed further, hoping to find someone who shared her frustrations.

"Why should we be? The Duke and Duchess have proven their good intentions time and again," the woman replied, her tone bordering on indifference.

Dorothy's sneer remained concealed beneath a veneer of false agreement.

She lowered her gaze, her eyes narrowing as a devious plan began to form in her mind.

It seemed the people of the north were not as astute as Dorothy had initially assumed.

Their unwavering trust in their leaders presented an opportunity she couldn't ignore—a chance to exploit their blind loyalty for her own benefit.

Still, a sense of caution mingled with her scheming thoughts. These seemingly naive people were quick to spread rumors, and that could work to her advantage. If she played her cards right, she could manipulate their whispers and mislead them into questioning Rosalind's ability to lead.

With a sly smile curling at the corners of her lips, Dorothy resolved to plant the seeds of doubt and discontent among the unsuspecting residents.

"I heard that the Duchess is..." Dorothy's voice trailed off, her words laden with a hint of uncertainty. She glanced around cautiously before continuing, her eyes filled with a mix of concern and apprehension. "I've heard rumors circulating in the south. They say that the Duchess is actually a sorceress. While I personally don't believe such tales, I believe those who spread these rumors should stop maligning the Duchess."

A scoff escaped the lips of the woman standing beside Dorothy, her face etched with defiance. "Humph! Even if the Duchess were a sorceress... so what?" she retorted, her voice filled with a fiery determination. "We're in dire need of her abilities now more than ever. What can the South do to us?"

Dorothy forced a smile, concealing her surprise at the woman's response. "I agree," she replied, her tone carefully measured. "It shouldn't matter, especially in the face of the current crisis." She lowered her gaze, her mind racing to comprehend the stark reality before her.

She had anticipated that the people of the north would be indifferent to the rumors, but she had not expected such blatant disregard for the Duchess's supposed sorceress abilities. She had truly underestimated the North's disrespect for the Seven Families became painfully apparent.

The medical personnel standing nearby interjected, her voice filled with hope. "I can only pray that the Duchess possesses the power to heal everyone within. If any more soldiers fall ill, it could spell disaster for us all."

"I apologize," Dorothy interjected. "I never imagined that the divine intervention of the goddess would prove ineffective in this situation. I underestimated the severity of this northern affliction... I did not expect that these creatures of the north could..." She trailed off as if she was hesitating to say something.

"Lady Dorothy, what are you talking about? What creatures of the north?" the medical personnel inquired, her brow furrowing with confusion.

Dorothy hesitated for a moment before responding, her voice barely above a whisper. "I... I believe that something more than a natural phenomenon is at play here. Only a malevolent force, like a demonic beast, could infect so many individuals simultaneously."

The medical personnel's eyes widened in astonishment. "Are you implying that a demonic beast did this?"

Dorothy nodded, her expression grim. "In cases like this, the only recourse is to halt the spread of the infection at all costs. We must contain it. And that means... we may need to eliminate those afflicted soldiers before their suffering worsens," she concluded, her words laced with a heavy sense of duty.

A moment of silence hung in the air as the gravity of Dorothy's proposal settled upon them. The medical personnel's face contorted with a mix of shock and horror, her mind struggling to comprehend the enormity of the decision at hand.

"Are you suggesting... we take their lives to save others?" the medical personnel whispered, her voice trembling.

Dorothy met her gaze, her eyes reflecting the weight of the situation. "Yes. It is a painful choice, but it might be the only way to prevent further suffering and halt the spread of this malevolence. We must act swiftly, decisively, and with the utmost compassion."

The medical personnel swallowed hard, grappling with the moral dilemma that lay before them. The notion of sacrificing a few to potentially save many clashed with their fundamental beliefs as healers, but in the face of a merciless and rapid-spreading affliction, they were forced to confront the harsh reality of their situation.