The feast was a wound in the dark.

Candles burned low on the high table. Wax pooled like blood. We ate in silence. The meat was salted pork. Heavy. Cold now. The lord, Sir Cedric, carved a leg. His knife was sharp. He did not look at me. He looked at the wall. The stone was old. The stones watched.

I am a prisoner. I am a sinner. I know this. My name is Elias. I was the cook. I am now the shadow. I sit in the corner. My chains are loose. But they are there. I feel them on my wrists. I feel the weight of my hands.

Eleanor is there. She sits across from Cedric. Her dress is white. It is stained. Not with wine. With dust. With time. She looks at me. Her eyes are deep wells. I see my reflection in them. I see the monster I was. I see the man I could be. She does not speak. She eats a slice of bread. She chews slowly.

The air is thick. It smells of smoke and iron. And something else. Something sweet. Rotten fruit. The smell of the cellar.

Cedric speaks. His voice is dry. Like leaves.

"You stay," he says.

He does not say to whom. He says it to the room. He says it to the air. He says it to me.

I nod. My neck hurts.

The feast is a ritual. We have eaten here for three days. Three days of silence. Three days of watching. The other guests are gone. Only the servants remain. They stand in the shadows. They hold their breath. They are afraid.

Why are they afraid?

I look at Eleanor. She wipes her mouth with a cloth. The cloth is gray. She looks tired. Her face is gaunt. She looks like a ghost. But she is alive. I can see the pulse in her neck. It beats slow. Steady.

I remember when she was strong. I remember when she laughed. That was before. Before the sickness. Before the fever. Before I locked the door.

I was the cook. I knew the herbs. I knew the roots. I knew the powders. I was clever. I was proud. I thought I was better than them. Better than Cedric. Better than the lord. I thought I could control the fire. I thought I could control the body.

I was wrong.

The food is the key. The food is the lie. We eat to live. We eat to forget. But the food remembers. The food holds the truth.

Cedric stops eating. He sets his knife down. The sound is sharp. It cuts the air.

"Eleanor," he says.

She looks up.

"Are you well?"

She smiles. It is a small smile. It does not reach her eyes.

"I am fine, my lord."

"Then eat."

She eats. She takes a bite of the pork. She chews. She swallows. I watch her throat move. I see the food go down. I see the darkness take it.

I feel a pain in my chest. It is a sharp pain. Like a needle. I know what is in the food. I know what I put in the stew last night. I did not put it in for Cedric. I put it in for her. I did it to save her. Or so I thought.

The herb is wolfsbane. It is a healer. It is a killer. In small doses, it soothes the nerves. It calms the mind. It eases the pain. In large doses, it stops the heart. It stops the breath. It stops the soul.

I gave her a small dose. I wanted her to sleep. I wanted her to rest. I wanted her to forget the fear. I wanted her to forget the chains. I wanted her to forget me.

But I was wrong.

The herb does not heal. It binds. It ties the spirit to the flesh. It makes the body heavy. It makes the mind clouded. It makes the soul trapped.

I made her a prisoner too.

I did it without meaning to. I did it out of love. I did it out of fear. I was afraid of losing her. I was afraid of the dark. I was afraid of Cedric.

Cedric stands up. He walks to the center of the room. He looks at me. His eyes are cold. They are the color of ice.

"Did you cook this?" he asks.

I do not answer. I cannot answer. My voice is gone.

"I know what you are," he says. "I know what you did."

He points at me. His finger is long. It is pale. It points like a sword.

"You tried to kill her."

"No," I whisper. "I tried to save her."

He laughs. It is a dry laugh. It sounds like cracking bone.

"Save her?" He shakes his head. "You poisoned her. You used your magic. You used your food. You are a witch, Elias. You are a monster."

I look at Eleanor. She is staring at him. Her face is blank. She does not blink. She does not breathe. She is listening. She is waiting.

Cedric turns to her.

"Eleanor. Tell him. Tell him what you know."

She looks at me. Her eyes are wet. I see tears in them. But she does not cry. She holds them back. She holds them in.

"I know nothing, my lord," she says.

Her voice is steady. But I hear the tremor. I hear the fear.

Cedric is not satisfied. He looks at the table. He looks at the plates. The plates are empty. The bones are picked clean. The crumbs are gone.

He looks at the cellar door. The door is open. A draft comes in. It is cold. It carries the smell of the earth.

"Take me down," he says to a servant.

The servant bows. He moves to the door.

Cedric follows. He walks slowly. He looks back at me. He does not look at Eleanor. He looks at me. He sees the truth in my face. He sees the guilt. He sees the shame.

I stay. I sit in the corner. The chains are tight now. They bite into my skin. I do not move. I do not breathe.

Eleanor stands up. She walks to the door. She follows Cedric. Her feet make no sound. She is like a shadow. She is like a ghost.

She goes down. She goes into the dark.

I am alone.

The room is silent. The candles are burning low. The wax is melting. It runs down the metal cups. It looks like tears.

I look at my hands. They are dirty. They are stained with soil. They are stained with blood. I do not know whose blood it is. I do not know whose hands these are.

I remember the promise. I promised her I would protect her. I promised her I would make the pain go away. I promised her I would keep the dark at bay.

I failed.

I made the dark stronger. I made the pain worse. I made the chain tighter.

I am the sinner. I am the prisoner. I am the one who locked the door.

I hear footsteps above me. They are slow. They are heavy. They come down the stairs.

I hear a key. The key turns in the lock. The door opens.

Cedric is there. He holds a lantern. The light is dim. It casts long shadows.

Eleanor is behind him. She is holding something. It is a bowl. It is white. It is empty.

Cedric looks at me. He does not speak. He sets the lantern on the floor. The light flickers.

He walks to me. He kneels down. He is close. I can smell his breath. It smells of wine. And of sweat.

"Look at me," he says.

I look at him.

"Do you know what I am?" he asks.

I shake my head.

"I am the lord," he says. "I am the master. I am the one who decides who lives and who dies."

He stands up. He looks at Eleanor.

"Give it to him."

Eleanor steps forward. She holds the bowl out. It is empty. But I see something in it. I see a shadow. I see a shape.

It is a root. It is black. It is twisted. It is wolfsbane.

She puts the bowl in my hands.

"Eat," she says.

Her voice is soft. It is gentle. It is kind.

I look at the root. I know it. I know its taste. I know its power. It is the same herb. The same poison. The same lie.

I look at Eleanor. I see the pain in her eyes. I see the love. I see the sacrifice.

She is not saving me. She is freeing me.

She is offering me the end.

I look at Cedric. He is watching. He is waiting. He is not angry. He is not sad. He is calm. He has accepted his defeat. He has accepted the truth. He is not the villain. He is the witness. He is the judge.

I look at the root. I pick it up. It is cold. It is smooth. It is heavy.

I put it in my mouth. I chew. It tastes of earth. It tastes of bitterness. It tastes of death.

I swallow.

The pain begins. It is not a sharp pain. It is a dull ache. It is in my bones. It is in my blood. It spreads. It moves.

I look at Eleanor. She is crying now. The tears fall. They hit the floor. They are invisible.

I look at Cedric. He bows. It is a small bow. It is a sign of respect.

I feel my body getting heavy. My legs are weak. My arms are slow.

I fall to my knees. The chains are no longer tight. They are loose. They are gone.

I am free.

The room is dark. The candles have gone out. The only light is the lantern. It is fading. The flame is small. It is blue.

I see Eleanor. She is standing by the door. She is looking at me. She is smiling. It is a real smile. It reaches her eyes.

I see my reflection in the stone floor. I am not a monster. I am a man. I am a lover. I am a sinner.

I close my eyes. The darkness comes. It is soft. It is warm. It is like a blanket.

I am not afraid.

The root is in me. It is part of me. It is the promise. It is the end.

I am gone.