"You—"
Mr. Porter's eyes widened in sheer terror as he watched his wife stagger down the stairs, struggling with a heavy can of gasoline.
"You are a venomous witch!
H-help... HELP!"
His voice, already ravaged by poison, came out in ragged gasps, each word clawing its way from his throat.
Unless someone stood right beside him, the plea would be inaudible.
And the servants?
They had long since fled the courtyard.
The smile on Mrs. Porter's lips deepened, her eyes burning with manic hatred.
She tilted the can, splashing gasoline across the staircase and the living room carpet. The acrid stench filled the air instantly.
"You vile creature!"
"Madwoman!"
The shadow of death loomed over Mr. Porter, freezing the blood in his veins.
Gritting his teeth, he dragged himself toward the door, his limbs trembling with the effort.
His son, collapsed nearby, paralyzed and helpless, didn't even earn a glance.
