Page 30 of The Last De Loughrey Dynasty

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

DOROTHEE

The momentI started to feel dizzy, I realised I was holding my breath. The problem was that I would rather faint than look at the girl in front of me for another second.

Everything I had eaten throughout the night rose in my throat. My legs wouldn’t give me a chance to move and run into the nearby bathroom to puke my guts out. I was frozen in fear, and all I could do was collapse to the ground, emptying my stomach into a nearby flower tray.

I didn’t know what burnt skin looked like before today. I now knew that skin started to peel when it burned, and how blisters covered the untouched skin that had grown too hot from the flames. Her eyes were fully blinded, and it looked like her eyelids had been burned off—God, I shouldn’t have looked so closely.

My eyes stung with unshed tears, and all I managed to do was dry heave. My knuckles ached from how tightly I was holding onto the flower tray, trying to somehow regulate my breathing and not turn this into a full-blown panic attack.

This hadn’t been a costume, that much I knew. No make-up artist could make burnt skin look that realistic. This was real… It was real to me.

I let out a sob, tears falling from my eyes, my throat burning in agony. When I managed to look back up, the hallway was empty again. She had disappeared. Maybe I had offended her with my reaction to her appearance, but who wouldn’t? This girl looked horrifying. I was sure that even Archer couldn’t have kept his stomach contents down.

All the illusions—ghosts—I had seen before were covered in blood. I could handle blood and wounds perfectly well, but burned skin…

I’d rather never open my eyes again than look at that girl for one more second.

Slowly, on unsteady legs, I rose. I didn’t turn, I didn’t look. I just started walking, keeping my gaze straight as I fisted the black tourmaline in my hand, pleading for its protection.

There is nothing to be afraid of.I’m fine.

If my legs weren’t so shaky, I would have run back to the ballroom, where I knew it was safe. Over time, I realised I could only see them this clearly when I was on my own.

Since then, I’d started to be scared of spending all night in my bedroom by myself. It wasn’t the fear of being alone in the dark; it was the fear ofnotbeing alone.

The corridor grew darker the further I walked. Lights started to extinguish behind me, forcing me to quicken my pace and hurry as best as I could towards the massive stairway at the end.

I couldn’t wrap my mind around what was happening to me.

Later. I could figure that out later. Right now, I just didn’t want to be alone anymore.

The past month had been so good, so peaceful. Now everything started to crumble, and I felt like that little girl again. Scared of the dark. Scared of opening her eyes in case someone was staring at her. Scared of this very life I was forced to live. I hadn’t felt anything like this in a long while, and being afraid didn’t even come close to what I was going through right now.All I wanted to do was scream whenever a new light went off, but they wouldn’t hear me over the loud music. If they heard me, I would have to hear the wordsliar,crazy,mental, andmadover and over again until I internalised them to the point where I couldn’t tell what was the truth and what was the lie.

Right before I reached the stairway, I tripped over something. My knees hit the ground, and I had to squeeze my eyes shut to keep from crying out loud in pain.

I groaned as excruciating pain shot through my knees, up to my thighs and down to my shins.

Please, don’t be broken.

A quiet whimper escaped me when I flipped over to sit on the floor and inspect my knees. There was no blood, just pale skin reddening.

My eyes met the ones who had caused my fall. A child was sitting on the floor, his legs extended. The little boy, no older than eight, looked at me with curiosity in his eyes.

“I apologise. It wasn’t my intention to hurt you, miss,” the child’s voice was small. He sounded as if he were afraid that I would be angry with him.

The little boy didn’t look like he belonged here, or in this time. But you can’t feel ghosts, right? How could I have tripped over his legs if he were a ghost? Maybe he was the son of a professor, celebrating Halloween in an old Sixties costume.

“It’s my fault, I should have watched where I was going,” I said, still clutching my leg, hoping the throbbing pain would subside soon.

The boy’s eyes looked me up and down, his lips bluish. He must be cold. I couldn’t blame him. Tonight was freezing.

I closed my eyes, inhaling and exhaling slowly. Throwing up had made my stomach cramp, and my head kept spinning from everything. All I wanted to do was hide under the covers of my bed. But I didn’t want to be alone.

“I’m George. What’s your name, miss?”

“Dorothee, but my friends call me Doe,” I replied, hearing the exhaustion in my voice. Unwillingly, I looked around to make sure I wasn’t surrounded by ghosts with their skin hanging half off their bones.

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