In the afternoon of a chilly winter day, in a room tucked away in the farthest corner of Duke Thorian Vexwell's estate, a beautiful yet frail woman lay on the bed, tugging on the chains tied to her legs. It had been two weeks since she was locked up, chained, and shunned by everyone in the duke's estate. Lilianne Ravenscourt, the Duchess of Velmira and once the most beautiful woman in the land, was now wasting away in a small, enclosed room as the plague in her body slowly consumed her.
She had been trying to free herself ever since her husband locked her in this hellhole. When she caught her husband sleeping with her best friend, who was now his mistress. Lilianne lay there, staring vacantly at the ceiling as she reminisced. All her life, she had been a good daughter and, later, a good wife, but neither her father nor her husband ever treated her kindly. To them, she was just baggage they couldn't get rid of.
Her father had seen her as a thorn since her mother passed away. He remarried immediately, forming a new family and doting on his new daughter. When Lilianne came of age, he handed her over to the duke in a marriage arranged by the former emperor. He was glad to be rid of her.
Growing up ignored, Lilianne hoped marriage would bring her the family she always dreamed of, but fate spat in her face once more. Her husband ignored her while courtesans visited the estate daily. Her only solace was the friendship she shared with Rigella Hemlington, daughter of Baron Maxwell Helmington. Like Lily, Rigella had also been raised by a stepmother. Their shared hardships had pulled them close until the day Lily found Rigella and her husband in bed together.
The betrayal broke her completely, and she fell ill just days later. It started with a cough. A few evenings after that, some guards dragged her to an old house at the corner of the estate and locked her in.
The servants would toss bread from the doorway every few days, holding their noses as if she were already dead. She survived on that, wishing death would come sooner, but as the days passed, it became clear even death didn't want her.
The longer she stayed in that room, the more she thought about everything that had happened. One week in, she overheard the guards talking in hushed voices at the door.
"Why is she the only one with the plague? Isn't it contagious? Wouldn't it have spread throughout the capital by now?" one guard asked.
"This is just a rumour, but I heard the duke went to the black market and bought some clothes infected with plague from a merchant who came from the Diguo Empire, which is currently ravaged by it. Then he placed the clothes in the duchess's room," the other guard replied.
Lily sat up, jerking awake in shock.
"Why?" the first guard asked, confusion thick in his voice.
Lily moved closer to the wall, placing her ear against it, her long black hair falling over her face.
"Didn't you hear?" the second guard said in a lowered voice. "The duke wants to marry Missus Rigella. To do that, they need to get rid of the current duchess."
Lily's hands trembled. Her jaw clenched. She sat there in stunned silence, as if struck by lightning. She had been ready to die, had said nothing when she caught them together, blaming it on her fate. She was willing to accept death, but now she knew the truth. They were trying to kill her. That changed everything. She couldn't face her mother in the afterlife, knowing she gave up so easily.
"I promise to endure this miserable life as long as I can. And if I die, I promise to haunt you both," she whispered. Her voice was hoarse, her red-rimmed eyes bulging.
Two weeks later, she was still alive, still trying to free herself. A week of struggling, the plague, and her fading strength had drained her. Though she longed for revenge, she could feel death hovering closer than ever.
She lay there praying. With every ounce of strength she had left, she tugged on the chains as hard as she could.
A loud snap echoed through the room as one of the chains broke.
She stared at the ceiling, now familiar with every crack after weeks of confinement. Coughing, she slowly stood up. Her muscles were stiff, her hands and legs blackened by gangrene.
She shuffled to the door and peeked outside. It was snowing heavily. No guard was in sight.
She exhaled and stepped into the snow, walking toward the duke's bedchamber.
She was dying. She had nothing left to lose. Before she left this world, she would take those two with her. Maybe that was the only reason she was still clinging to life.
The snow reached her knees. Her chest heaved as she coughed; blood filled her mouth. She spat, the glob of dark, rust-red blood and phlegm blooming vivid against the pure white snow. Despite her state, she moved faster, her willpower propelling her forward. The courtyard was empty. Snow had driven everyone inside.
She reached the duke's bedchamber. No servants. No resistance. She inhaled deeply, then pushed the door open.
He had never allowed her into his bedchamber in two years of marriage. But now, there he was, sprawled on the bed with Rigella in his arms.
Lily stared at them, then caught her reflection in the dressing mirror. Her hair was matted, her eyes bloodshot, her face sunken. Her lips were black and cracked.
A wet, ragged sound escaped her throat. She spat a burning mouthful of bloody mucus onto the Duke's face. He stirred, eyes fluttered open, confused.
Before he could react, she moved to Rigella and spat on her too.
Lily stood at the centre of the room, laughing maniacally as they screamed in horror. The duke rushed to the washroom, shouting for guards. Rigella followed, wailing.
Lily clutched her chest, laughing as her lungs burned. She gasped for breath.
Then... thud. She fell, curling into a fetal position as memories of her life flashed before her eyes.
It was finally time. She had taken her revenge. Now, she could die in peace.
As her vision faded, she heard the chaos and panic of the duke, Rigella, and the guards. She smiled. For the first time in her life, she had fought back.
"May where I'm heading be better than this miserable life," she whispered.
Lilianne Ravenscourt died at twenty-one, on the floor of the husband's bedchamber she was never allowed to enter.