The sun had not yet risen as Arianta bolted from her bed and dashed into the bathroom. Her pajama pants slumped down to her ankles as she perched on the porcelain throne, her intestines writhing and heaving. The day before, it had come out of her mouth; this morning, it was the other end. Arianta groaned as she clutched her head, regretting her decision to take the job and undergo a detox.
Finally feeling safe to leave the toilet, Arianta stepped into the shower to wash off the remnants of the night's torture. As she made her way down the hall, she followed the distant clanging sounds until she found Breana in the kitchen, wielding a basket of eggs.
“Good morning, Breana. Is Ms. Bishop already up? I'm looking forward to starting work,” Arianta said, her voice hoarse from the ordeal.
Breana nodded, her eyes dark and inscrutable. “Yes. Yes. Madame awake. Hours ago,” she said, pulling a glass from the fridge and sliding it across the marble countertop. “Drink. Make breakfast.”
She grimaced as she raised the glass to her lips, examining the scarlet liquid that shimmered in the morning light filtering through the window. She hesitated, sniffing before taking a cautious sip, the taste of strawberries hitting her palate with an odd tang. Her face contorted as she swallowed, bracing herself for any oncoming nausea and retching. But to her surprise, she didn't feel sick. In fact, she found herself taking several more swigs, gulping down the fruit smoothie until the glass was empty.
Breana whisked the glass away, leaving her feeling strangely unsettled with bitter aftertaste still in her mouth. She couldn't quite place the taste or the sensation it left behind. Was it a trick of her mind, or was there something more to that drink? She shook off the unease and headed to Katherine's study. She cautiously crept into the room, peering around the door to see Katherine Bishop perched in a wingback chair, silhouetted against the window that loomed from floor to ceiling. “I let you sleep off your affliction. You're feeling better now?”
She answered as she stepped further into the room, “If it were alcohol, I could have managed. But that was far from a hangover. However, I feel fine now.”
Katherine gestured for her to sit in the chair opposite her, folded her newspaper, and placed it on the wooden side table. Crossing her legs, she said, “I believe we're ready to get to work. I'm an early riser. Four.”
Arianta's eyes widened. “Four in the morning?”
“It's a farm. There's much to do. I get a lot of my ideas while doing my morning chores. I need you to be ready when I am. Meet me in the living room by five.” Arianta’s eyes widened at the mention of five o’clock in the morning, but she remained silent until Katherine finished the agenda. “You'll follow me; be my shadow. Most of my recent books are set on a farm, which is why I need my ghostwriter here. This is your muse.” Katherine pointed to the mist hovering above the grassy field in front of them, draped in a Gothic undertone.
Arianta exclaimed, “This place is more than enough to stir inspiration in me. Your home and land are truly stunning. I'm still awestruck by its beauty.”
“This is horror, not a love story,” Katherine retorted firmly.
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