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This is the last place you wanted to be today. (This is the last place you wanted to be today.)
Across from you, in the manorhouse absolutely owned by his fiancée and not by him, sits your brother, a teacup in his hand. (Above you, in the basement of the townhouse the two of you rent, stands your brother, who had served you tea not an hour earlier.) The cups Felicity set before you go completely untouched; you’re not falling for this again. (He had set a cup before you, and you, not thinking, drank it; your exhausted state made the fact that you quite quickly lost consciousness not register as odd until just now.)
“How are you alive?” your brother says. (“Oh, you’re awake,” your brother says.)
“Sheer force of will,” you reply. (“What– Wh–” you try, heart hammering in your ears.)
“All the trouble I went through to keep you dead–” (“Oh, please, hold still, Teddy, you’re fine.”)
You can’t take your eyes off him. His own tea is tinged red with blood. (Your vision dips in and out, but you keep your gaze trained on him. The air is stale, but shot through with the tang of fresh blood.)
Your arm hurts – inner elbow, left ulnar artery, covered in scar tissue. (Your arm hurts – inner elbow, left ulnar artery, being carved open carelessly.) He’d made it look like an accident, he says. A horrible, terrible accident, with very little body to find. (He’s making it look like an accident, you realize. A terrible, tragic accident. You wonder how many people will think it was actually a suicide, when they find your body.)
Your conversation from there on out is stilted and awful. You barely know what he’s saying. Your ears ring. You want to leave. (He makes conversation as he bleeds you out. You barely know what he’s saying. Your ears ring. Your vision dims. You should have left when you had the chance.)
When you’re done, the butler shows you to the door. You leave, and you do not look back.
(When he’s done, Fredrick-Gilbert lets you slump against the side of the altar, putting the knife in your hand. He wipes off his hands, glances around the dark basement, and nods. You can barely keep your head up as he walks down the altar and up the basement stairs. Silhouetted in the hall light, he looks back at you for just a moment. When the door shuts behind him, the basement is rendered completely black. You’re not quite sure when you die, but you’ll remember the feeling of blood sliding down your arm for as long as you live.)