Starving

The moment the door clicked shut behind Aaron and his footsteps faded down the hall, Lara whirled to face me, her hands on her hips, her face a mask of furious disbelief. 

"Two days!" she hissed, her voice low and simmering with barely contained rage.

"Two days! After all this, they tell us two days before the wedding? What kind of barbaric Pack does that? They're trying to trip you up, to make you stumble!" She threw her hands up in exasperation. "Elias and his wretched Pack! May they rot in the darkest pits of the Underworld for their insolence!"

I simply watched her, my expression carefully neutral. 

She was right. It was a deliberate insult, a final attempt to break my spirit before the ceremony. But Father's message about the Harvest Moon still echoed in my mind.

Endure, and remember who you are. Bring honor to our name, and bring them to heel.

This final act of spite from Elias's Pack, this two-day notice, slotted perfectly into a new, far more dangerous design.

"Lara," I said, my voice calm, cutting through her agitated outburst. My eyes held a sudden, sharp glint. "I have an idea."

Lara paused, her indignation momentarily eclipsed by curiosity. "An idea, my lady? For what?"

I pushed myself up higher in the bed, my gaze falling to the small, concealed package of food that Lara had so frantically hidden. 

"For the wedding," I stated, my voice gaining a chilling resolve. "Take that food away. All of it."

Lara's eyes widened, confusion clouding her features. "Away, my lady? But why? It's good food! And Morgan went through so much trouble to get it to us! You need to eat!" Her voice rose with genuine alarm, her hand instinctively going to the pocket where the precious provisions were tucked away.

"Because," I replied, meeting her gaze steadily, "for my plan, I need to starve myself for the next two days."

Lara gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, her face paling further. "No, my lady! You can't! You've already lost too much weight! You can barely stand on your own! You'll perish before the wedding even begins!"

Her voice was desperate, pleading, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. "You said you needed strength, a safety net! This is madness!"

"It is necessary, Lara," I reiterated, my voice firm, allowing no room for argument.

"No matter how much I act weak, no matter how convincing my facade, it will never be as powerful as the truth. I need to be genuinely weakened, truly on the brink. Only then will my collapse on their glorious wedding day carry the undeniable weight of accusation. It must be real. Their own cruelty, laid bare for all to see."

Lara's shoulders slumped, her defiance draining from her as she comprehended the horrifying depth of my resolve. She stared at me, a silent, desperate plea in her eyes, but I offered no comfort, only grim determination.

Reluctantly, she retrieved the food from her pocket. She carefully wrapped it back up, her movements heavy with sorrow, and tucked it away in the deepest part of my travel trunk, out of sight.

The first day of my self-imposed famine wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. I had never truly starved myself before at least not on purpose. 

My life in the Sect had been disciplined, but never deprived of basic needs. I had eaten a good amount of Morgan's food just hours before Aaron's visit, so my stomach wasn't entirely empty. 

There was a faint, empty feeling, a dull ache that reminded me I hadn't eaten, but it wasn't painful. My head felt a little light sometimes, especially when I stood up too fast, but it was manageable. 

I spent the day resting, reading from a small book Lara had found for me, trying to ignore the subtle rumbling in my belly. Lara watched me constantly, her worry a visible cloud around her, but she didn't argue. She knew my will was set. I told myself, This isn't so bad. I can do this.

But as the sun set on that first day, and the night grew cold, the hunger started to bite. It wasn't just an empty feeling anymore. It was a gnawing, clawing sensation that made my stomach cramp. Sleep was hard to find, my body restless, constantly aware of its emptiness.

The second day dawned like a cruel joke. Every part of me screamed for food. My head throbbed, a dull hammer against my skull, and the dizziness was constant now.

When I tried to sit up, the room spun violently, forcing me to close my eyes and wait for it to pass. My hands shook badly, and my legs felt like wobbly pillars of jelly.

Even speaking felt like a huge effort, my voice coming out thin and reedy. This was nothing like the gentle hunger of the day before. This was true starvation, and I felt it in every aching bone.

"My lady, please," Lara begged, her eyes wide with fear, tears glistening. "Just a little. A piece of bread? You're fading. You won't make it."

"No, Lara," I whispered, my lips dry. "It is necessary." The words tasted like ash. My resolve was still there, a cold, hard ember, but it felt much smaller now, fighting against the overwhelming needs of my body.

Despite my weakening state, the wedding preparations around the Pack House continued in a flurry of activity. Lara would come and tell me about it, trying to distract me, perhaps trying to keep her own spirits up.

"The Pack is alive with preparations, my lady," she reported one morning, her voice hushed, as she helped me sit upright, my head swimming from the effort. "The great hall is being transformed. They're bringing in so many flowers, white ones, like snow. And tapestries with their sigils, all in crimson and black. It's truly grand."

A faint, bitter smile touched my lips. "Oh?"

"Yes," she continued, a wistful note in her tone. "And the scent of their ceremonial fires, preparing the feasts for the celebration. You can smell it even here."

Her gaze drifted to the window, lost in the grandeur she was describing. "If only you could see them, my lady. The decorations, the vibrancy."

I closed my eyes for a moment, picturing the opulence, the blatant display of wealth and power that would make my collapse even more stark, more damning. "I will see them, Lara," I murmured, my voice raspy, a promise I wasn't entirely sure I could keep.

At was finally the day of the wedding, hours crawled by, each one a torment. By the time the Harvest Moon began its slow climb into the twilight sky, I felt like I was truly dying. 

This was not weakness this was my body shutting down. My vision was swimming with black spots, my ears rang with a constant high pitched whine. 

Nausea churned in my empty stomach, and cold sweat coated my skin, even though the room wasn't warm. My limbs felt heavy and disconnected, barely obeying my will. 

I wondered, with a chilling fear that I had never known, if I would even live to get married. Would I collapse before Elias could even say I do? Would all this suffering be for nothing? The thought sparked a new kind of desperate terror.

Lara was a ghost, moving quietly around me, her face a mask of anguish. She brought me sips of water, gently wiping my brow with a cool cloth. She knew this was my choice, but her every action screamed her worry and pain for me.

The last hours before the wedding were a blur of fading light and increasing physical agony. 

Lara carefully helped me out of my simple nightclothes and into the elaborate wedding gown. 

The heavy, deep red silk felt like lead, crushing me, emphasizing every sharp bone, every prominent rib beneath the fabric. My head hurt, and I relied entirely on Lara's steady hands to guide me, to keep me upright. My hair, meticulously braided earlier by Lara, felt like a heavy crown.

As the final rays of the setting sun painted the room in hues of orange and purple, a sharp, commanding rap echoed through the quiet chamber. My heart, already weak, gave a frantic flutter.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

"Who is that?" I croaked, my voice barely a whisper, too weak to hide my true state.

"Lady Seraphina, it is Aaron," a voice, devoid of warmth, called from outside the door. "It is time for the ceremony."

Lara stiffened. She turned from me, her small hand already reaching for the last piece of my bridal attire the long, crimson veil, embroidered with silver threads that matched my gown and eyes. Her face was pale, but her eyes held a fierce determination. 

She would see this through with me, to the very end.

She turned back to me, the beautiful, heavy veil draped over her arm. Her gaze met mine, deep and understanding, filled with both sorrow and unwavering loyalty.

"My lady," Lara whispered, her voice trembling slightly as she reached out, taking the veil. "It is time."