"Make way! Make way!"
Just then, a new voice cut through the fog.
Isabelle pushed through the small crowd of maids that had gathered, her face etched with concern.
She took in the scene in an instant: Joy pale and limp in Carmela's arms, blood on her chin, everyone gathered around in varying states of panic.
"What happened?" Isabelle asked, kneeling beside them. "What happened to Lady Joy?"
Maria answered, her voice shaking.
"We don't know! She was fine one moment, and then—"
She gestured helplessly at her daughter.
"She just collapsed! Coughed up blood. She won't respond to anything."
Isabelle's brow furrowed. She pressed two fingers to Joy's wrist, checking her pulse, then gently lifted one of her eyelids.
"This is serious." She murmured. "If only Lady Diana were here."
She looked up.
"But she's not. I'll go get Young Master. He'll know what to do."
She rose and began to turn—
"NO."
The word cut through the air like a blade.
Everyone froze.
Joy's eyes snapped open.
