Chapter 712
The ground was littered with unconscious bodies, and dozens of flashlights lay scattered. Ironically, their misplaced beams illuminated a small corner of the otherwise dark and eerie island.
As Felicia lay unconscious, the owner of the white leather shoes crouched beside her. The woman gently stroked Felicia’s face before saying, in a hoarse, grating voice, “What a beautiful face. I used to have one just like it. Unfortunately…”
Her gaze snapped toward Maurice, filled with hatred and fury. “It’s all because of you! It’s all your fault, you monster!”
Muttering to herself, she grabbed Felicia’s throat with one hand, reaching for Maurice with the other. Before she could touch him, Maurice caught her wrist in a vice-like grip.
“He’s still awake?” she thought, panicked.
She gasped, instinctively trying to shield her face, but Maurice’s grip on her wrist prevented her escape. Panic surged; her grip on Felicia’s throat tightened.
Maurice, semi-conscious and ravaged by the venomous creature’s backlash, felt his organs being gnawed apart. The searing agony was unbearable. His shallow breathing made him less susceptible to the poisonous fog. His instincts, however, triggered a defensive response when he sensed her approach. Seeing her strangling Felicia, his expression turned vicious. With his remaining strength, he twisted her wrist with brutal force. A sickening crack echoed as the woman screamed and released Felicia. She stumbled back, cradling her broken wrist. Maurice crawled to Felicia, pulling her into a protective embrace.
That was all the strength he had left. His breathing grew ragged, his body trembled violently. He managed one last look at Felicia before his eyes closed.
The woman, wailing in pain, clutched her arm, her already disfigured face contorting further in hatred. “I’ll kill you both!” she shrieked, grinding her teeth.
Still on her knees, she raised a large rock, ready to strike. Then, voices and hurried footsteps approached. Her expression changed; like a frightened animal, she dropped the rock and fled into the forest.
When Felicia awoke, sunlight streamed through a window. She lay on a narrow wooden bed; the old frame creaked with each movement.
“Where am I?” she wondered.
Memories flooded back in a chaotic blur, then sharpened into clear awareness. Her clothes and dagger were intact. She grabbed the dagger and cautiously scanned the small, humble room—simple furnishings, meticulously clean. It looked like a farmer’s home.
Dagger in hand, Felicia quietly stepped outside. The wooden door creaked open, revealing a surprising sight. Sunlight filled a small yard, bathed in warm, golden light. Bright wedding decorations adorned the yard.
“Oh, you’re awake,” an elderly woman sitting on a stone stool looked up from her intricate paper cuttings. “You’ve been unconscious for a whole day. You must be hungry. I saved some croissants and pumpkin soup for you. Let me bring them over.”
Before Felicia could respond, the old woman shuffled to the kitchen, returning moments later with a steaming bowl of pumpkin soup and two freshly baked croissants.