Andrew

The sun gilded the heavy curtains of the dining room, creating a cozy, almost fairytale-like atmosphere. The table was laden with dishes that Marta, the cook, had never served before: tender meat in a rich amber sauce and baked root vegetables. Hungry after your morning chores, you didn't wait for everyone else and dug into your meal with gusto.

"Mom, Mom! Look at this flower!" four-year-old Lily ran into the room, beaming with happiness. Andrew, your dear Duke, followed her, looking lovingly at your fidget. His waistcoat was lightly dusted with pollen from their walk in the garden.

"Hurry up and sit down," you smiled, but your voice sounded somehow muffled. "Everything is so delicious, I couldn't resist."

Andrew sat down next to you and gently covered your hand with his.

"Darling, are you okay?" His eyebrows rose in alarm. "You turned pale in literally a second. Even your lips have turned gray."

You tried to answer, but your mouth was dry and dark circles swam before your eyes. Lily, who had only managed to eat a bite, suddenly dropped her fork.

“Daddy... my tummy is hurting,” she whispered, pressing her palms to her dress.

Andrew pushed his plate away abruptly, his face contorted with a sudden wave of nausea.

"Something's wrong... Martha!" he shouted, but his voice became hoarse.

You felt an icy chill spread through your veins. You couldn't even hold your back up anymore. The glass tipped over with a clang, and you collapsed, plunging into a thick silence. The last thing you heard was your daughter's terrified cries and your husband's heavy breathing as he desperately tried to get up to help you.