Scene 17:

Tharald’s health was declining day by day. It was slow, almost imperceptible at first, but unmistakable as the weeks went on. Serelith found herself stopping by his chambers often, quietly tending to him with gentle hands and a soft voice. She’d brush the sweat from his brow or help him sit up when the weakness overwhelmed him. Celene, ever eager to help, would assist where she could, though she was less confident in her care.

One afternoon, Marlena entered the room, a smile painted on her lips as she watched Celene offer her grandfather a cup of tea.

“My Celene has grown up,” Marlena said warmly. “Look how she’s taking care of her grandfather.”

Both girls remained silent, exchanging a brief glance. For the first time, Celene felt a chill creep into her heart at her mother’s praise. It was not the warmth she expected, but something colder, sharper.

That evening, as the sun dipped beyond the palace walls, servants whispered in hushed tones through the corridors.

“Did you see? Lady Celene’s so kind to the Former Count lately. Maybe she’s the one who cares most.”

Everyone’s forgetting Serelith. The quiet girl always there in the shadows.But those loyal to Serelith knew the truth. Most of the time, it was she who stayed by Tharald’s side, tending to his needs when no one else did.

As days passed, Tharald’s condition worsened. His once strong frame grew frail. Even the palace doctors were baffled.

“We can’t figure out what’s wrong with him,” one physician admitted, frowning as he examined Tharald’s pale lips and weak pulse.

“His body betrays no clear cause,” said another. “The man has always been robust—never caught a cold in all his years. And now...”

His voice trailed off, unable to explain the mystery sickness stealing Tharald’s vitality.

Serelith sat by his bedside one evening, holding his hand. His skin was cold, clammy to the touch.

“Grandfather?” she whispered. “Please get better.”

Tharald’s eyes fluttered open, dim but filled with warmth. “Serelith...” he murmured, voice weak but steady. “You’re here.”

She smiled softly, brushing a strand of platinum hair from his forehead. “I am.”

Celene peeked into the room hesitantly. “Is Grandfather going to be okay?”

Serelith’s smile faltered, but she nodded. “We’ll do everything we can.”

Later, Marlena appeared by the door, arms crossed, watching the scene with a calculating gaze. She stepped forward and spoke with practiced kindness.

“You’re both doing well. My Celene shows such promise in caring for her grandfather.”

Celene beamed but Serelith felt the words like a cold shadow falling over her.

One evening, the two sisters were alone in the garden. The stars above sparkled faintly through the night mist.

Celene sighed. “Do you think Grandfather will get better?”

Serelith hesitated. “I don’t know. But I’m not giving up.”

Celene nodded, biting her lip. “Mother says I’m the one helping, but it’s you who stays with him the most.”

Serelith looked away, pain flickering in her eyes. “I just want him to be well.”

Their moment was broken by a servant passing nearby. “Did you hear? The Former Count's sickness is a mystery. Even the doctors don’t know.”

Celene frowned. “It’s scary.”

Serelith reached for her sister’s hand. “We have to stay strong. For Grandfather.”

Back inside, Marlena met with the head physician privately. Her voice was low and urgent.

“Find out what is causing his illness. I want results. No matter what it takes.”

The doctor nodded but looked troubled. “We will do our best, Lady Marlena.”

Yet days turned into weeks with no improvement.

Elric finally spoke, frustration clear in his tone. “Father is wasting away. This unknown illness... it’s like a curse.”

Serelith clenched her fists. “We have to keep faith.”

Elric shook his head. “Faith isn’t enough.”

One afternoon, Marlena entered Tharald’s chambers carrying a tray of food. She placed it carefully before him and spoke softly.

“Eat something, Father. You need strength.”

Tharald’s lips barely moved as he nodded weakly.

Serelith watched from the doorway, her heart aching.

Later that night, she confided in Celene. “I don’t understand what’s happening. Grandfather is fading.”

Celene whispered, “Mother says it’s just illness, but I don’t believe her.”

Serelith tightened her grip on her sister’s hand. “We’ll protect him.”

Unseen, Marlena watched from behind a curtain, her face unreadable.

The palace buzzed with rumors, but none suspected the dark truth hidden beneath polite smiles.

As Tharald’s condition declined, the bond between the sisters was tested by silence and distance.

But Serelith remained steadfast—her heart a quiet beacon in the growing shadow.

“No one knows if Tharald will live—or if something far worse is slowly claiming him from within.”