“There are poisons that blind you, and poisons that open your eyes.”

― August Strindberg

Xx Prologue xX

"She's not breathing," Ivy shrieked desperately. Her piercing, blue eyes glowed with fear. Panic flashed through them as if electricity was coursing in her veins. She knelt beside a solitary bed at the end of the room trying to aid her paralyzed daughter. Long strands of her hair fell over her daughter's face like a curtain as she leant over her. Her nimble fingers caressed her daughter's soft face.

She reached down and clung to her five year old daughter's pale, limp hand as her husband ushered an doctor into their house. He was a middle-aged man with a gray, wispy beard. He wore much fancier, more expensive clothes than he could afford, but it got him more respect from others.

The room was silent other than the slow, but constant tapping of the heels on his elegant, leather shoes. He seemed in no particular rush to tend to the dying girl as he casually strolled across the room glancing at his watch and checking inside his bag a few times.

"No need to hurry!" Ivy called obnoxiously to him, the panic escalated in her voice. Locks of her golden hair clung messily to her face as she looked up at him. He shot her a reprimanding look.

"Remedy cannot be rushed Mrs. Dreamer," he responded serenely. Tears fell freely from her eyes staining her face making it gleam in the light. She brought a frail hand up to her face and gently wiped away the tears.

She glanced at her husband, Victor, who was standing in the dark corner of the room. She had always admired how calm and composed he could be during rough situations, but now she was astonished that he could keep a straight face when his daughter was inches from death. She studied his facial features. None of them showed even a glimmer of anguish or concern. She knew that he cared, but what she couldn't comprehend was how he concealed his emotions so easily. It was like walking for him; it was just so natural.

The doctor cleared his throat jolting Ivy from her thoughts. He folded his fingers and twiddles his thumbs as he paced back and forth, examining the girl's condition. Like her husband, he didn't show much emotion. Only his eyes were tender and compassionate. He inhaled deeply and turned towards Ivy though he wouldn't meet her gaze.

"You can heal her," she croaks out hoarsely, "Can you not?" The man grunted in response.

"It is not a matter of my abilities," he explained calmly, "It is a matter of whether it is even possible at all." Ivy fell silent. She gazed lovingly at her daughter. Her dark, red was sprawled across her pillow around her round face and her eyes were closed gently as if she was resting; however, her skin was as pale as snow and as cold as ice. Her complexion looked almost ghost-like.

Ivy turned her attention back to the doctor who was rummaging through his bag. The golden thread sewn into the dark fabric of the tote reminded her of the sun and its warmth. It has been so long since she had seen it. One day, it was there bringing light to the world and then the next day it was like an endless night.

"Where is it?" he muttered under his breath. A bead of sweat formed on his brow and his breathing intensified. Vague wrinkles began to form on his forehead, barely noticeable but still showed signs of stress.

"Is there anything wrong?" Ivy asked concerned as she rose unsteadily to her feet. He looked up for a moment before going back to frantically searching through his bag.

"There isn't anything wrong," he said clearing his throat and steading his voice, "I've just misplaced something."

"Excuse me?" Ivy said exasperated at the doctor, "We put our trust in you Alastair." Her voice cracked at the end. Her eyes met his kind, wise ones and a flash of guilt crossed them.

"I have it here," he said weakly. He withdrew his hand from the bag and held out a vial of a concentrated, black liquid. It was as black as death and mysterious as a shadow. Ivy reached for it hesitantly, her slim fingers closing around the smooth surface eventually. She delicately pulled the cork out. When the wretched scent reached her nose, she suddenly felt her eyes watering and her throat close.

"What is this?" she said holding the flask away from her appalled, "Are you sure it will cure her?" He nodded grimly.

"Yes," he said hoarsely, "She won't feel any pain." His voice was almost like a whisper. She held Alastair's gaze until she turned to her unconscious daughter. As she bent down, she tenderly tilted her daughter's head up. She lifted the flask to the small girl's thin lips and poured the thick fluid slowly into her mouth.

For a sickening moment, nothing happened. Silence filled the room. Suddenly the girl lurched forward in a coughing fit. Her bloodshot eyes snapped open and she shook violently. Her tiny figure floundered on her soft bed sheets and she held her neck as if she was being strangled. Her condition was worse than before. Now, everything about her seemed colorless. It was as if the life was being drained from her. Her chapped lips were discolored to more of an ivory color and they quivered slightly as if she was freezing. Even the distinct scarlet tint in her hair was dulled to more of a muddled, light brown.

"What's happening to her?" Ivy screamed hopelessly. Gasping in terror, she dropped to her knees. Her head snapped towards the man.

"I-I had to," he stuttered faintly. Tears flooded from his eyes. He turned to the horrified Ivy and looked her dead in the eye.

"I'm sorry," he choked out sincerely.

"What did you do?" she demanded. He opened his mouth, but no words preceded. He stole some glances towards the door while still trying to search his mind for something to say. He gives Ivy an apologizing look and in one swift movement, he swept up his bag and rushed for the door. He was much quicker than Ivy expected he could be. Fortunately, her husband was just as brisk as him and blocked the door before he could depart.

"What did you do?" Ivy repeated in an ominous way, her voice escalating in volume. Alastair, looking flustered, scrambled for something to say as Victor's glare was burning holes in him. Ivy didn't know what to make of the man. She did not understand what he had done to her poor daughter, but she had confided in him and he had failed her.

"I-"Alastair began, but lost his voice as quickly as he gained it. Ivy nodded vigorously anxiously awaiting his response. She hadn't noticed it, but a lock of her hair was curled around her tiny finger as she twisted and turned it. It was a nervous habit of hers. She quickly unraveled her finger from the strand and gestured for him to continue.

"Please continue," she said, trying to make her voice not tremble. Her gaze shifts to the various beakers and flasks Alastair had laid out on the table adjacent to her. Her eyes move along the colorful powders and herbs contained in the glass.

Suddenly a memory resurfaces. When she was little, her father, one of the wisest gentlemen in all of the land, used to teach her the secrets of healing hoping one day she'd follow in his footsteps. Eventually, she didn't and became a seamstress, but she retained a bit of that knowledge that he had bestowed on her.

She remembered his graceful, yet solid fingers gather each medicine and potion in his cabinet and explain them. He had picked up a rather strange one which was different than the normally colorful potions. It was a liquid that was as black as death and mysterious as a shadow. His raspy, yet quiet voice echoed through her mind.

"My dear Ivy," he had said, "There is only one potion that can bring almost instant death, that can bring eternal darkness to all of the land." She looked down at the empty vial nesting in her palm. A single drop remained at the very bottom of the flask.

Alastair's words broke her out of her thought as she sat petrified in place, the vial falling from her hand.

"She's-" he paused inhaling deeply. 

"She's Poisoned."

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Hey guys!

Hope you liked it! It wasn't really my best work, but I'll edit it later :) thanks for reading!

~Annabeth