In the days following Aveline's imprisonment, the manor above thrived in a swirl of attention and care for Emilia. Though she was weak and still recovering, her room became a sanctuary, filled with warmth, gifts, and doting attendants. Viscount Harry and Henry set aside their obligations, staying close to ensure her comfort and safety. Even servants were diligent, rushing to her side with teas, pillows and anything she desire. Lords from neighboring families make daily visits, bringing flowers and tokens of goodwill. Emilia, the adored daughter was cradlded in attention and care, her every need seen to with unwavering devotion.

But beneath the grandeur of the manor, in the cold stone dungeon, Aveline languished in silence and isolation. Days passed with no relief; she was left alone in her cell, shivering as bitter chill seeped into her bones. Her only source of food was stale, leftover scraps discarded by the dungeon guards, barely enough to give her strength. She felt her body growing weaker, her mind succumbing to a grim acceptance of fate that awaited for her.

Even here, in the darkest part of the manor, cruelty found her. The guards and servants looked up to her with disdain, mocking her fallen status and treating her with contempt. Some sneered as they threw her meager rations through the cell bars, their faces twisted with arrogance. Aveline herself could not understand why the kitchen had lied, why do they had to accused her of poisoning Emilia. But even if she cried or pleaded, she knew her voice would not be heard.

So she waited, alone and forsaken, the walls of her cell closing in as she accepted her fate.