Chapter 125: A Flower Born in Tragedy
Thelma Zane’s POV:
I was having breakfast with Dorothy when the news came–Adele had lost her mind.
“How is that possible?” My immediate reaction was disbelief. “In just one night? Has she truly gone mad? Or is she playing some elaborate trick?”
Kara, who delivered the news, shook her head with a mix of pity and resignation. “It’s true. The werewolf grandmasters and Tracy confirmed it. Adele has gone insane.‘
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Dorothy, seated across from me, shared my bewilderment. “But last night, wasn’t she boldly confronting the southern Duke? What could have happened?”
Kara hesitated before responding. “Perhaps she was already unstable, and her intense emotions pushed her over the edge. Or maybe she was adept at masking her condition, and her facade finally cracked.”
Dorothy and I exchanged glances. She had faced Adele head–on before and knew firsthand how unyielding her spirit was. For Adele to crumble like this in such a short time felt surreal.
Finishing breakfast hastily, I decided to find my parents to get clarity. But neither of them was in the usual places. I eventually learned that they, along with the southern Duke and Duke Frank, had gone to the northwest corner tower where Adele was being held.
The scene in the corner tower was both somber and chaotic. People crowded the small space, each with a different expression–concern, frustration, and a tinge of helplessness. Adele lay on the bed, motionless and eerily quiet, resembling a life–like porcelain doll.
Her wrists bore faint traces of blood, likely from an earlier struggle. The guards standing nearby still held ropes in their hands, evidence of the force they must have used to subdue her. Her injuries were healed, thanks to her enhanced self–healing abilities, but the faint stains on her pale skin told a story of her resistance.
Could this truly be the same Adele? The girl who had wreaked havoc and challenged the werewolf pack for half a year? It felt impossible to reconcile this broken figure with the formidable opponent we had known.
My father noticed me lingering at the doorway and gestured for me to come closer.
Master Mary was recounting the events that led to Adele’s condition. Her voice was steady but tinged with regret.
“It seems the bloodline curse played a significant role in destabilizing her already fragile. mental state,” she explained. “The intense pain and psychological torment triggered by the curse likely caused irreversible damage. Additionally, the black mist’s mental sorcery, which Adele activated to defend herself, created further complications. It seems to have taken a toll
Chapter 125 A Flower Ben in Tragedy
on her psyche, even as it warded off external threats.”
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Mary paused, glancing at Tracy, who nodded in agreement. “Moreover,” she continued, ” Adele’s mental state might not have been stable to begin with. Her past experiences likely left scars that made her vulnerable to this breakdown.”
The room fell silent, save for the faint murmurs coming from Adele herself. She was oblivious to the people around her, her vacant gaze fixed on the small skylight above her.
Only the southern Duke seemed untouched by Mary’s explanation. He stood by the bed, his eyes filled with a grief so profound it seemed to hollow him out.
“Lennon,” Duke Frank said gently, breaking the silence.
The southern Duke snapped out of his daze, his sorrow giving way to a look of desperate. determination. “Can she be cured?” he asked, his voice heavy with emotion.
Mary and Tracy exchanged a look, their expressions grave. Tracy finally spoke, her tone sincere but devoid of false hope. “We’ll do our best.”
Her words hung in the air like a death knell. The southern Duke’s shoulders slumped as if the weight of the world had descended upon him. He appeared defeated, a shadow of the proud
man he once was.
Drawn by an inexplicable pull, I approached Adele’s bedside. Her face was pale, almost
ghostly, and her eyes, once sharp and calculating, were now clouded and distant. She muttered) to herself, a string of disconnected words.
I leaned in closer, straining to make out what she was saying.
“The moon… darkness… the moon… darkness…”
She repeated the words like a broken record, her voice hollow and haunting. The nonsensical repetition sent a shiver down my spine.
And yet, as I studied her face, I saw something I hadn’t noticed before–her youth. Beneath the layers of cunning and cruelty, Adele was just a girl. Barely older than my sisters, she had carried the weight of countless tragedies on her fragile shoulders.
Her actions had been reprehensible, but standing there, I couldn’t summon the anger I once. felt toward her. All I could see was a life shaped by pain and misfortune. A flower born in tragedy, its petals torn apart by the storm.
For reasons I couldn’t explain, I felt a sudden urge to leave. The tower’s narrow confines seemed to close in around me, the shadows stretching and writhing like living creatures. The weight of the darkness was suffocating.
Ignoring the startled murmurs of my parents and the others, I turned and fled.
The cool morning air hit me as I stepped outside, but it did little to dispel the heaviness in my chest.
Adele’s voice echoed in my mind, her mumbled.
wind.
“The moon… darkness… the moon…”
Even the moon had turned away from her.
Adele’s voice echoed in my mind, her mumbled words blending with the whispers of the wind
“The moon… darkness the moon.”
Even the moon had turned away from her.
