Rosie's Games

Rosalind's gaze hardened as she studied the wretched figure before her.

The young soldier, a mere shadow of his former self, lay motionless on the bed inside the infirmary. His labored breaths filled the air, a haunting reminder of the dire situation they found themselves in.

She had seen the effects of the affliction spreading through their ranks, twisting healthy men and women into tormented beings. The sickness seemed to defy all logic, its origins shrouded in darkness. Rosalind's heart clenched with a mixture of compassion and determination. She knew what was coming next.

These people would soon transform into demon-like creatures and lose their humanity. It would be catastrophic!

She sighed and looked at the other figure on the other bed.

Her gaze then landed on the General behind her. General Lytton stood ready to execute her commands without question. His loyalty and unwavering dedication were comforting amidst the chaos that surrounded them. They had fought side by side, forged in the crucible of countless battles against the beasts in the north. Now, they faced an enemy they couldn't see, an enemy that struck fear into the hearts of even the bravest warriors.

"Duchess, everything has been taken care of," the General reported. "Sir Bohan stands guard outside, ensuring that no one enters or leaves. The doors and windows have been secured. What would you have me do next?"

Rosalind turned to face him, her eyes searching his face for any hint of doubt. She found none. She knew she could trust him, and his willingness to follow her orders without question bolstered her resolve.

"General," she spoke with a steely determination, "I need you to trust me implicitly. Do not ask questions, no matter what you witness or hear. Carry out my instructions diligently, and we shall discuss everything once this nightmare is over."

The General's expression hardened in response, his features etched with a solemn understanding. "You have my unwavering loyalty, your grace," he affirmed, a testament to his unwavering commitment to the Duchy. "I swear upon the graves of my ancestors, who valiantly fought against the very beasts that threaten us now. I will not question your motives or actions. My duty is to protect you and the people of the estate."

A surge of gratitude washed over Rosalind as she nodded in acknowledgment. The weight of her responsibility pressed heavily upon her shoulders, but she knew she could rely on the General's unwavering support.

However, the General's words were pretty clear. His duty was to protect the people. If she does something that could harm them, then it would be his responsibility to become her adversary.

Satisfied with his words, Rosalind took a deep breath, steadying herself for what lay ahead. She faced the soldiers. Closing her eyes, she focused on the Duke's words, his teachings resonating within her.

The blessings of light and darkness intertwined within her being, and if she could harness the power of light to heal wounds, then perhaps there was a glimmer of hope in utilizing the darkness as well. Uncertainty plagued her thoughts, for she had never attempted such a feat before. Yet, an undeniable force within urged her to take this leap of faith.

"Run..." the voice whispered, its warning echoing in the recesses of her mind. Rosalind chose to silence it, pushing aside her own doubts and fears. This was not the time for hesitation. She knew that she had to give it a try, for the sake of the wounded soldier lying before her.

With her eyes closed, Rosalind delved deep into her innermost self, searching for the darkness that coiled within her heart. It was a dense and suffocating presence, akin to facing a formidable beast ready to devour her at any moment. Yet she steeled her resolve, refusing to let fear hold her back.

Time seemed to stretch into eternity as Rosalind focused her thoughts, channeling her willpower. She commanded the darkness to heed her call, to weave its tendrils around the battered body of the young soldier. The inky shadows swirled and danced, responding to her unspoken commands.

A surge of anticipation coursed through her veins as she sensed the darkness embracing the soldier's form. It was an unfamiliar sensation, the intertwining of her own essence with the malevolent force. The air crackled with otherworldly energy as the darkness worked its ethereal magic.

….

For generations, the Lyttons had stood by the Duchy's side, their unwavering loyalty a testament to their unyielding devotion. To them, serving the Duke was not just a duty—it was a sacred bond that transcended mere titles and obligations.

Outsiders may have viewed their loyalty as foolishness, unable to comprehend why a family of such strength and influence would blindly follow the Duke's every command. In the eyes of those outside the Duchy, the Lyttons were seen as pawns, easily manipulated to further someone else's agenda.

In the past, offers of wealth and power had been extended to them, tempting them to betray their allegiance and seize control of the Duchy for themselves. Yet the Lyttons and the rest of the four great pillars of the estate, remained steadfast, their commitment unshakable.

To the Lytton family, their loyalty was not born out of naivety or ignorance. It ran deep within their veins, intertwining with their very essence. Their roots were entwined with the foundations of the Duchy, having stood by its side since its humble beginnings. Their unwavering support was not a blind following, but a testament to their unwavering belief in the righteousness of their cause.

The doubts cast upon the Duchess only served to fuel the fire of speculation.

Whispers echoed through the halls of the noble families in the North, questioning the authenticity of her marriage to the Duke. Many believed that the Duke had carefully orchestrated a ruse to attain greater power and influence by marrying the Duchess.

Suspicion hung heavy in the air, as the noble families speculated on the Duke's hidden motives, contemplating the possibility of a coup to claim the crown from the current King and Queen.

Amidst the skeptical whispers that echoed through the noble families of the North, the General and the other pillars of strength remained silent, accepting the new Duchess without question. Many deemed them foolish for their unwavering acceptance, oblivious to the true reasons that lay hidden beneath the surface.

The General kept quiet, not wanting to divulge the information that distinguished them from those who could only bark like dogs, unable to understand the intricacies of their loyalty.

As the General's thoughts swirled with unspoken secrets, his attention was abruptly diverted by a dark mist-like substance that enshrouded the young man's body before them. The man, once healthy and vibrant, had succumbed to a wretched illness within a mere few hours—an unforeseen progression that left the General uneasy.

The implications were dire. If the disease could spread and claim lives in such a swift manner, what fate awaited the entire camp if it were to infect them all? The weight of this possibility hung heavily upon his shoulders.

Yet, despite the mounting uncertainties, the General remained composed. The black mist that cocooned the man's form hinted at darkness or sorcery, an unfamiliar method to the General's trained eye. Though this realization could have sparked alarm, the General's calm demeanor prevailed.

In his eyes, those who possessed the power to aid his soldiers were allies, regardless of their nature or background. Conversely, those who posed a threat to his men were adversaries deserving of his unwavering vigilance.

It was a simple, yet steadfast, belief that guided his actions. Whether sorcerer or not, the Duchess had proven her ability to aid them in the past, solidifying her status as an ally. And within the estate, this line of thinking permeated the thoughts of all who resided there, fostering a united front.

…..

The once tranquil surroundings of the infirmary had descended into chaos, mirroring the desperate situation that unfolded within its walls. Medical personnel, overwhelmed by the sudden influx of soldiers suffering the same tragic fate, worked tirelessly to tend to their weakened bodies.

Unconscious forms littered the snow, while others fought for each labored breath. The soldiers, hardened by the harsh conditions of the North and resilient to illness, now appeared feeble and vulnerable, succumbing to an enigmatic malady, unlike anything they had encountered before.

Outside the infirmary, a tense atmosphere hung heavy in the air. Sir Bohan, his countenance darkened with concern, surveyed the scene before him. These soldiers had been retrieved from the prison, their deteriorating condition leaving no choice but to bring them here for urgent medical attention. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily upon him, stirring a mixture of frustration and determination within his heart.

"Sir Bohan, we implore you to let us enter," Lady Dorothy beseeched, her voice filled with urgency. "These people require immediate care. We cannot leave them lying in the snow, as it may exacerbate their already dire circumstances."

"Sir, Lady Dorothy is right this time. We needed to get our supplies inside to at least give them the care that they needed. We cannot afford to wait any longer." One of the medical personnel spoke. "Please let us in."