His mind would leave his body. He would walk through a waking nightmare, reliving his worst fears while his physical form lay paralyzed.
Julian pulled back his collar. On his neck was the brand of the High Inquisitor—a mark reserved for those who had committed treason. He had seen the corruption in the capital, tried to expose it, and was now a hunted man. He didn't want to forget his life; he wanted to fake his death. 🧪 The Three Drops of Belladonna nightshade
Within minutes, the world began to warp. The wooden beams of Isolde’s cottage stretched toward the sky like giant, skeletal fingers. He looked at Isolde, and her face melted into the face of the commander he had betrayed. The screams of the battlefield, which he had tried so hard to suppress, filled the silent cabin like thunder. His mind would leave his body
Hours later, the King's riders hammered on Isolde's door. They burst inside, their swords drawn, demanding the traitor. Isolde simply pointed to the cold body lying on the stone floor. The captain of the guard knelt, pressed two fingers to Julian's neck, and peeled back his eyelid. Seeing only a vast, empty black void and feeling no pulse, the captain spat on the floor and declared him dead. On his neck was the brand of the
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For hours, Julian did not move. But as the dawn broke through the Blackwood canopy, his hand twitched. He let out a long, agonizing gasp, his lungs burning as they took in air for the first time in a day. He looked at Isolde, his eyes slowly returning to their normal, clear hazel.
In the damp, shadowed heart of the Blackwood, her cottage sat surrounded by a garden that looked entirely dead to the untrained eye. There were no bright roses or fragrant lavender here. Instead, beneath the heavy canopy, Isolde cultivated the Solanaceae —the nightshades.