The sun filtered softly through the grand windows of the manor, casting a warm glow on the polished stone floors. Mia moved down the hallway, her steps light and steady as she balanced a silver plate in her hands. The morning was peaceful, the hum of servants working in the distance adding a rhythm to the silence.

But as she neared the corner, a voice called out to her, sharp and urgent. “Mia, can you come here and help me with this quickly?”

Mia paused, glancing toward the source of the call. “Okay,” Mia replied, setting the plate down gently on a nearby table with a soft thud before hurrying toward the source of the voice.

In the shadows, a mysterious figure had swapped poison for Lady Eileen's medicine.

As she entered the sitting room, she saw Lady Eileen seated by the window, looking out over the gardens with a thoughtful expression. Her silver-hair shimmered in the light, and the delicate fabric of her gown flowed gracefully around her.

She had hair as silver as moonlight, cascading in soft waves down her back, catching the light with every subtle movement. Her eyes, a striking shade of deep purple, shimmered with an almost ethereal glow, as if they held secrets and stories that could never be fully told.

“Lady Eileen,” Mia greeted, her voice soft but filled with affection.

“Ah, it’s time for my medicine, isn’t it?” Lady Eileen said, her voice warm as she turned to Mia with a gentle smile.

“Yes, Lady Eileen,” Mia replied, moving toward the small table where the vial of Lady Eileen’s medicine sat. She lifted it carefully, her hands trembling just slightly as she poured the liquid into a crystal glass.

“Thank you,” Lady Eileen said with a gracious nod as Mia handed her the glass.

Mia watched, her gaze lingering on Lady Eileen, not just out of concern, but because the woman was truly something to behold. There was a serene beauty about her, a kind of quiet elegance that seemed to light up the room. Mia felt her chest tighten with admiration, but she couldn’t help herself. The words slipped out before she could stop them.

“Lady Eileen, you are so beautiful, the most beautiful woman in Acacia,” Mia said, her voice filled with awe.

Lady Eileen chuckled softly, her smile widening. “Oh no, Mia, every woman in Acacia is beautiful,” she replied, a hint of modesty in her tone.

Mia shook her head, unable to accept such a dismissal. “What are you saying? You are the prettiest, the most gorgeous, and the—”

“Ah, Mia, stop it already, okay?” Lady Eileen laughed, waving a hand dismissively as though brushing away the compliments.

Mia smiled, her heart lightening at the sight of Lady Eileen’s easy laughter. “Yes, Lady Eileen,” she replied, though her voice held a trace of playful defiance.

Lady Eileen’s eyes sparkled with gratitude as she met Susan’s gaze. “Well, it’s because of you both. You make me look pretty today,” she said, her tone warm and sincere.

The two women exchanged smiles before Mia glanced at the clock on the wall, noting the time. “Lady Eileen, the wedding starts in twenty minutes,” she reminded her gently, the urgency creeping into her voice.

“Oh, my!” Lady Eileen exclaimed, her heart racing as she looked toward the door. “I better hurry!”

With a swift motion, she raised the glass to her lips and took a small sip of the medicine, unaware that it had been tainted. As the liquid touched her tongue, she felt a strange warmth spread through her chest, but she thought little of it. Her focus was already on the wedding and the rush to prepare.

But hidden in the shadows, a figure watched, unseen. A figure who had swapped the medicine, carefully and without suspicion, with a vile concoction. Poison, disguised as the simple remedy Lady Eileen had relied on for so long.

The figure retreated into the darkness, unseen and unheard, as the door closed softly behind them. The stage had been set. The poison was in her veins, and the clock was ticking.

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The grand cathedral was filled with the soft murmur of excited whispers and the melodic strains of an organ. The air was thick with anticipation as the guests turned their gaze toward the aisle. Lady Eileen, the radiant bride, glided down the path toward her future husband, Prince Erle. Her silver gown shimmered under the chandeliers, and the long train followed her like a river of light. By her side, her father, Viscount Regis, walked with pride, his face a mixture of joy and bittersweet sorrow. He had always dreamed of this day, but now that it had arrived, a feeling of dread began to settle in his heart.

As they moved forward, Eileen’s delicate step faltered for a moment, and she coughed lightly, a strange rasp to her breath.

“Daughter, are you all right?” Viscount Regis asked, his brow furrowing in concern as he gently squeezed her arm.

Eileen paused, a brief wave of dizziness washing over her. Her vision blurred, and her stomach churned. But she quickly masked the discomfort, offering her father a reassuring smile.

“Yes, Father. I’m fine,” she replied, though her voice lacked its usual strength.

Viscount Regis didn’t look convinced, but he said nothing, guiding her down the aisle with a tender hand.

The ceremony continued, oblivious to the undercurrent of tension in the air. The priest’s voice rang out, echoing across the marble floors of the cathedral.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of God and in the presence of these witnesses, to join Prince Erle and Lady Eileen in holy matrimony,” he began, his voice steady and strong.

As the priest continued with the vows, the guests hung on every word, but for Eileen, each moment felt like it was slipping away from her. She could feel her heartbeat quickening, her limbs growing weak.

“Do you, Prince Erle, take Lady Eileen to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do you part?”

“I do,” Prince Erle said, his voice steady, his eyes locked on Eileen with an unshakable devotion.

The crowd murmured their approval, but Eileen’s world was spinning. She could barely hear the priest’s next words as she focused on staying upright.

“Do you, Lady Eileen, take Prince Erle to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do you part?”

“I d—” Eileen began, but her voice faltered. Suddenly, she doubled over with a violent cough. Red droplets splattered onto her lips, and before anyone could react, she spat out a stream of blood. The sight of it was horrifying, and the guests gasped in shock.

“EILEEN!!” Prince Erle cried out, rushing to her side, his face pale with fear. He caught her before she could collapse completely.

“EILEEN, MY DAUGHTER! NO!” Viscount Regis screamed, his voice cracking with anguish

The scene was chaotic. The priest fumbled, unsure of what to do. Guests rushed to the front, but Erle was the only one who seemed to remain focused.

“CALL THE PHYSICIAN!” he shouted, his voice desperate and sharp.

Two Hours Later…

The palace hallways were thick with tension as the royal physician emerged from the room where Lady Eileen lay, her fate hanging in the balance. He was a man of few words, but his expression said more than enough.

“How is she, doctor?” Prince Erle asked, his voice trembling, barely able to hold himself together.

The doctor looked at him gravely, his eyes filled with sympathy. “The lady is in critical condition, Your Highness. I’m afraid Lady Eileen won’t…” He paused, searching for the right words, but none came.

“Won’t what?” Erle demanded, a hint of panic creeping into his voice.

The doctor hesitated, then spoke softly, as though unwilling to deliver the inevitable. “I’m afraid she won’t make it,” he said solemnly.

“No!” Erle’s cry rang out, a sound of heartbreak so raw it seemed to shake the very air around them. He staggered back, his knees weak, his vision swimming with tears.

“I’m so sorry, Prince Erle,” the doctor continued, his voice sorrowful. “It appears she was poisoned.”

“Poisoned?!” Erle’s eyes widened in shock, his entire body stiffening. “How? Who did this?”

The doctor shook his head, his hands clasped in front of him, helpless. “We don’t know, Your Highness. But the symptoms are clear. The poison was swift, and it has already taken its toll.”

Viscount Regis, his face pale and tear-streaked, clutched his chest as if the very news of his daughter’s condition was a physical blow. “My daughter…” he sobbed, his voice breaking with the weight of his grief.

The room fell into an eerie silence as the gravity of the situation settled over everyone. Then, from across the room, a cold voice cut through the tension.

“WHO WAS THE PERSON THAT BROUGHT EILEEN HER MEDICINE?” demanded the Empress, her gaze sharp and accusatory.

Everyone turned to Mia, who had been standing quietly in the corner, her hands trembling at her sides. She swallowed hard, her throat dry, her heart pounding in her chest.

“It… it was me,” Mia admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. She stepped forward, but the room seemed to grow colder with each passing second.

The Empress’s eyes narrowed. “Guards!” she barked. “Take her to prison at once!”

Mia froze, her breath catching in her throat. “No, please,” she pleaded, her voice shaking. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just a maid. I never meant to hurt Lady Eileen! Please, believe me!”

Prince Erle stepped forward, his face stricken with grief and confusion. “Mother, we don’t know if it was really her,” he interjected, his voice pleading.

The Empress’s expression hardened. “We must act swiftly before the killer escapes,” she insisted, her voice cold and unforgiving.

“Please, have mercy!” Mia begged, tears streaming down her face. “I wouldn’t hurt Lady Eileen. I swear to you, I—”

“GUARDS, TAKE HER AWAY!” the Empress shouted again, cutting off Mia’s pleas.

“No, no, please, it wasn’t me!” Mia cried out as the guards seized her arms and dragged her away, her frantic protests echoing through the hall.

As she was dragged from the room, the weight of her guilt hung heavy in the air. Whether she was guilty or not, she would have to face the consequences—though she knew in her heart that the truth might never come to light.

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The night was long and cold, the palace still, save for the soft whispers of the wind outside. Prince Erle sat in a chair beside Lady Eileen's bed, his eyes never leaving her fragile form. He had barely slept, his heart a constant ache as he watched over her, waiting for a miracle that he knew would never come. The scent of medicine still lingered in the air, but it did nothing to ease the overwhelming sense of helplessness that gripped him.

Then, in the stillness of the night, a faint cough broke the silence. Erle's eyes snapped open, his pulse racing.

"Eileen?" he whispered, his voice hoarse from exhaustion. His heart surged with hope. He leaned closer to her, his eyes searching her face as her eyelids fluttered.

"Eileen, you're awake," he murmured, unable to contain the relief that washed over him.

A weak voice barely rose above a breath. "Erle, is that you?"

Tears welled in his eyes, but he forced them back, unable to let himself break just yet. "Yes, it's me," he said softly, his voice trembling with emotion.

Eileen's gaze fluttered, her violet eyes, once so bright, now clouded with a faraway look. She seemed to be gathering strength for her next words, but they came out slow, fragile.

"Erle," she whispered, a tremor in her voice. "I'm afraid I'll have to leave you behind in this world."

The words sliced through him like a knife. His heart clenched painfully in his chest, and for a moment, he couldn't speak.

"What do you mean?" he asked, his voice tight with fear, a desperate plea hidden in his words.

"I h... hope we m... meet again in a... another life," she continued, the words spilling from her lips in a slow, broken cadence.

"No, Eileen, don't say that." Erle leaned closer, his hand finding hers, clutching it desperately. "You won't leave me. Not like this."

Her hand was cold, her fingers weak in his grip, but she managed a faint, sad smile. "Erle, don't... don't cry."

"I— I love you," She whispered.

But Eileen's hand grew limp in his grasp, her breath shallow, her chest stilling. A hollow silence filled the room, and Erle's heart stopped in his chest.

"EILEEN!" His voice shattered the quiet as he leaned over her, shaking her gently, but there was no response. Her face was pale, her body still.

"EILEEN!" he shouted again, his voice desperate, but the truth was already sinking in—he had lost her.

"DOCTOR! DOCTOR!" he cried, his voice raw with panic.

The physician rushed into the room, his expression grim as he assessed the scene. He moved swiftly, checking her pulse and breathing, but there was nothing he could do.

"I'm sorry, Prince," the doctor said softly, his eyes filled with sorrow. "She didn't make it."

The world seemed to tilt beneath Erle's feet, and the room spun. He could barely comprehend the words. He stood there for a long moment, unable to move, as if the loss was too vast to take in. His hands trembled as he gently gathered Eileen's lifeless form into his arms.

"No..." he whispered, but his voice betrayed him, cracking under the weight of the pain. He held her close, as if somehow, in that moment, she could return to him.

He carried her from the room, the loss consuming him, his steps heavy as he moved through the halls of the palace. The grand doors to the chapel swung open, and he laid her body to rest. He couldn't bear to let go, couldn't face the world without her.

The funeral was a blur. High-ranking nobles and dignitaries filed into the hall, their faces etched with grief and solemnity. The air was thick with sorrow, the murmurs of condolences muted against the weight of the tragedy.

"Eileen, my daughter," Viscount Regis wept, his voice breaking as he stood beside his daughter's coffin, clutching his chest in agony. "My sweet, precious daughter."

Susan, the maid who had served Eileen with unwavering loyalty, stood in the corner, tears streaming down her face. "Lady Eileen, I'll always remember you," she whispered, her voice soft but filled with love.

"Eileen, you are everything to me. It feels like a piece of me is broken. Without you, I don't know how to live." Erle voice wavered.

Other nobles gathered around, offering their condolences, but Erle barely heard them. His eyes were fixed on Eileen's still form, his mind struggling to make sense of the gaping hole she had left in his world.

"Suddenly, you're gone. I just can't believe it," he murmured.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Prince Erle," Claudia said, her voice soft, almost uncertain.

Erle didn't respond, his gaze fixed on the coffin. His heart was numb, and the world outside seemed to move in slow motion.

Claudia stepped closer, her voice gentler this time. "I don't know how you're feeling right now, but I hope you heal from it."

Erle sighed, a sound heavy with exhaustion and sorrow, but he didn't speak. The words felt hollow.

As time passed, the crowd began to thin, the mourners trickling out one by one, leaving only Erle alone with his thoughts. His hands, still holding Eileen's framed picture, trembled. It felt as though a part of him had been ripped away, leaving him empty.

"Prince Erle," Claudia's voice cut through the silence. She stood by the door, her figure framed in the dim light of the hall. "Everyone has left already. You must be tired. Please, go and get some rest," she said, her tone more insistent than before.

Erle didn't look up, his fingers tightening around the frame. "Go ahead, Claudia," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm staying here."

Claudia's gaze hardened for a moment, and she glared at him, the sharpness in her eyes betraying something else beneath the surface. But she didn't argue. With a curt nod, she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving him alone in the heavy silence of the chapel.

Erle remained there, his heart heavy with grief, clinging to the memory of the woman he had loved—and lost—forever.

Two Months Later

The faint clatter of papers and the scratch of a quill pen were the only sounds in the dimly lit study. Erle sat hunched over his desk, surrounded by piles of unfinished work, his eyes unfocused, the lines of sorrow carved deep into his face. It had been two months since Eileen's death, and the grief had never loosened its grip on him. His once regal demeanor was now shrouded in an aura of misery, and even the most mundane tasks seemed insurmountable.

Brenner, his ever-loyal servant, stepped into the room. "Your Highness, Lady Claudia is here to see you," he said gently.

Erle barely reacted, his hand hovering over a sheet of paper but not moving to write.

Claudia entered without waiting for further invitation, her eyes immediately landing on the broken figure of the prince. She hesitated for a moment, then let out a small sigh.

"It's been two months, and you're still like this," she said, her voice tinged with both concern and frustration. She glanced at the piles of paperwork scattered around him. "You're not even trying to move on, Erle."

Erle didn't look up. "I can't. Not without her," he murmured, his voice hollow.

Claudia's patience thinned. She walked briskly over to his desk, pulling the papers away from his hands with a firm motion. "Your Highness, you need to stop this. It's unhealthy, and frankly, it's getting old. Come on, let's go somewhere that doesn't feel like a funeral home." Her words were sharp, but behind them, there was a glimmer of affection. She truly wanted to help him, but it was clear that he was shutting everyone out.

Erle finally lifted his gaze, his eyes heavy with unspoken pain. "Claudia, I said I'm not in the mood. Please, just leave me alone."

"But—" Claudia began, trying to meet his eyes, "I'm not asking you to forget her. I just want to see you breathe again. It's been two months! You can't stay like this forever!"

Erle's patience snapped. His voice, low but commanding, was edged with anger. "I said no. Leave me."

Claudia's face darkened, frustration boiling over. She turned on her heel, her hands balling into fists at her sides. "Fine," she spat, her voice filled with bitterness, "You want to wallow in your grief? Then do it alone." She stormed toward the door, her footsteps sharp against the floor.

The door slammed behind her.

Alone in the study once more, Erle's shoulders sagged. He closed his eyes, the silence enveloping him. But outside, Claudia's anger had not yet cooled.

A scream tore itself from her throat as she stormed down the hallway, her emotions a tangled mess. She wasn't angry with Erle, not really. She was angry at the situation, at the memory of Eileen that haunted them both. She was angry at herself for feeling invisible, for knowing she could never replace the woman Erle had loved so deeply.

With a fierce determination, she found herself in the art gallery, where portraits of the royal family hung in somber grandeur. She stormed past them, her eyes locking onto a particular painting—the last portrait of Lady Eileen. Claudia's breath came in shallow bursts, her fists trembling as she reached for the scissors resting on a nearby table.

Without thinking, she grabbed the blades and began to slash at the canvas, the elegant strokes of Eileen's painted face destroyed with each furious cut. "You think you can take him away from me, don't you?" Claudia hissed through clenched teeth. The image of Eileen became a chaos of black streaks and ruined colors as she shredded it.

"I hate you!" she screamed. "I hate you! I hate you!"

She wasn't sure if the words were directed at the woman in the painting or at herself. Maybe both. All she knew was that she had to destroy something—anything—before the weight of her emotions crushed her completely.

And yet, even as the last shred of fabric was torn away, a sick feeling gnawed at her insides. She wasn't angry at Eileen, nor at Erle. She was angry at her own helplessness—her inability to fix him, to make him see her, to make him choose her. But deep down, she knew that no matter how much she hated the ghost of Eileen, it wasn't her love that Erle needed. It was time, and time alone, that could heal him.