It felt as if he had been shot several thousand times.
Not once in his life had he ever felt so… weak and helpless.
"Water." His voice sounded so hoarse, too weak to be even considered as a whisper.
There was a goblet at his bedside. He rolled over to reach it, but his arms just flailed helplessly at his sides.
"Bartwick." He tried calling out, but he may have as well been talking to himself.
The light coming from the window was bright.
It had to be past noon from the look of things.
Theodore shielded his eyes from the harsh light and glanced around the room.
The bedside drawer…
The last thing he remembered was reaching for his vile before things got out of hand. And he had scattered the drawer in question.
Had someone come into his room?
Theo could vaguely remember someone speaking to him, but that was all…
Even the broken glass had been cleaned up.
The servants wouldn't dare…
