Page 206 of Bound By Crimson

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And the tea. And anything else they brought.

She drank water from the bathroom sink—just enough to stay alive.

She did the same the next day. And the next.

Each time, she staggered back to bed like a ghost.

She let her skin stay pale and her lips dry. She let them believe she was dying.

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By the fourth day, hunger clawed at her.

Her stomach burned. Her hands trembled worse than before.

But she noticed something else.

The dizziness was gone.

Her mind was clearer. Her muscles still weak, but less poisoned.

Her body still ached—but it was hers now, not something they were unraveling piece by piece.

She lay in bed, eyes half-lidded, pretending to be too weak to lift her head.

That afternoon, someone new came to change the linens.

Not Tessa.

Bernarda.

She entered with a stiff expression, carrying a fresh set of sheets.

No eye contact. No words.

Bernarda set the stack down, then moved to the edge of the bed.

“Up,” she said flatly.

Lyric didn’t move.

She blinked slowly, kept her limbs heavy, her fingers trembling just enough.

Bernarda let out a sharp breath through her nose.

Without another word, she hooked her arms under Lyric’s and lifted her upright.

Her grip was firm, strong, practiced.

She guided Lyric into the nearby chair, easing her down like setting down a bag of flour.

Lyric slumped into the chair, breathing slow and uneven, her body loose but alert beneath the act. She let Bernarda do all the work.

Let them think I can’t stand.

Bernarda stripped the bed quickly. Tucked in the clean sheet. Smoothed the blanket.

But as she finished, she paused.

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