⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

𝔼𝕍𝔼ℝ𝕃𝕐ℕ stirred awake, her head throbbing with pain. The light blurred in her vision, at first making her think it was the sun. Slowly, she sat up from the cold steel bed beneath her, blinking away the haze. Her fingers reached up instinctively, touching her forehead. A bandage wrapped around her head, and beneath it, she could feel the tender skin—stitches, probably.

"Where... where the hell am I?" she muttered, her voice hoarse.

She pushed herself up, unsteady at first, and let her gaze roam across the room.

The space was large, cold, and imposing—like an old study from a different era yet equipped with modern technology. A massive wooden desk sat in front of towering windows, their iron frames dividing the glass into grids. Outside, the sky was an eerie shade of grey, casting a muted glow into the room. Papers and books were strewn across the desk, along with a sleek, futuristic-looking screen that flickered softly.

To her left, a tall bookshelf filled with worn tomes and neatly organized files stretched from the floor to the ceiling. Beside it, a coat rack held a single dark coat, swaying slightly as if someone had just left it there.

But what caught her attention the most was the display case along the far wall. It was filled with an unsettling collection of weapons—blades, daggers, and ancient artifacts. Among them, grotesque skeletal remains were mounted against the glass—skulls of creatures she couldn't recognize, bones that didn't belong to anything human. The soft lighting inside the case cast eerie shadows, making the grotesque display seem almost alive.

Her stomach twisted uneasily.

This wasn't a hospital. It wasn't a police station.

Where the hell was she?

Everlyn turned sharply, her eyes landing on the cold, imposing metal door behind her. Trapped. She scanned the room again, taking in the ancient weapons and strange tools displayed behind glass—like relics in a museum.

Before she could process more, a voice caught her attention.

"Make yourself comfortable."

She turned to see a man in a formal suit, a book tucked under his arm. He moved with an easy confidence, walking around the large desk at the centre of the room. A smile played on his lips.

Everlyn narrowed her eyes, keeping her guard up. "Who are you?" The man's smile didn't falter as he approached the main desk, the tall windows behind him casting long shadows. "Who am I?" he echoed with a quiet chuckle, setting the book down. He folded his hands before speaking again. "The more relevant question, Ms. O'Conner, is who exactly are you?" His tone was smooth, laced with curiosity. "In theory, I know all about you. Medic in the army. A passion for ancient artifacts. And page after page indicating a deep and troubling moral turpitude."

He strolled closer, glancing down at a file in his hands. "But, you see, this file contains nothing of real value to me. That's why I wanted to see you face-to-face." He lifted his gaze, studying her through his glasses. "So, I'll ask again. Who are you?"

Everlyn felt her confusion deepen, her body tense as she met his gaze. She opened her mouth to respond, but he spoke first.

"I'm a doctor."

She arched a brow, repeating, "A doctor."

The man nodded, pacing slightly. "Chemical pathology. Neurosurgery. Fellow of the Royal Society." He offered a small, knowing smirk. "I'm also a lawyer." Everlyn gave him a sceptical look. "You must have been a popular kid in the sandbox."

He chuckled at that, an almost genuine sound. Then, he moved toward the steel bed where she had woken up. He let out a quiet sigh as he picked up a large syringe from a silver tray.

"There you are," he muttered to himself before turning back to Everlyn.

"These days, I specialize in immunology," he continued, almost conversationally. "Perhaps infectious diseases." He chuckled softly, amused by his own words. Walking back to his desk, he retrieved a vial from an open metal case, holding it up to the dim light. "I'd like, if I may, Ms. O'Conner, to tell you a story." His voice remained calm, steady, even as he prepared the syringe. "A story about a patient of mine. A man of promise. A man who believed he was beyond reproach... until he got ill." He tapped the vial thoughtfully. "The disease manifested in subtle ways at first. And then it grew into an overwhelming desire. An unquenchable thirst..."

Everlyn watched, her unease growing.

Henry removed one of his black gloves, exposing his hand. Then, turning toward her, his voice shifted—deeper, rougher, twisted with something almost inhuman.

"For chaos," he rasped, his once-smooth accent warping into a deep Cockney growl. "For the suffering of others."

Everlyn's breath hitched as she saw his face change—something monstrous lurking beneath the surface of his skin, beginning to emerge.

Before the transformation could overtake him, Henry plunged the syringe into his arm. A sharp intake of breath. His body tensed—then slowly, almost painfully, returned to normal.

He exhaled, shuddering slightly, then pulled his glove back on, adjusting it with careful precision as he sat down. "He was quite fortunate," he murmured. "He himself was a physician. And if evil were a pathogen... then surely, there must be a cure."

Everlyn narrowed her eyes, her mind racing.

Henry Jekyll smiled.

"I would like, if I may, Ms. O'Conner, to show you something."

With that, he stood and stepped toward her.

𓋹𓂀

The room was cold, sterile, and filled with the hum of machinery. Harsh, artificial light flickered from overhead fixtures, casting elongated shadows across the tiled floor. The walls were lined with reinforced glass, behind which strange, preserved specimens floated in large cylindrical tanks—ancient creatures, their bodies twisted by time and science. Metallic tables held an array of surgical tools, vials, and notes scribbled in languages long forgotten.

At the center of the room, restrained and shivering, was Ahmanis. His wrists and ankles were bound by thick iron shackles, their runes glowing faintly with containment magic. Tubes snaked from his body, filled with a strange silver liquid that pulsed rhythmically into his veins. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, his muscles tense as he fought against his restraints.

A low groan of pain escaped him as he struggled, his head lolling forward. Footsteps echoed through the chamber, and Ahmanis weakly lifted his gaze.

He saw her.

Everlyn.

She moved cautiously, walking beside Henry Jekyll, her expression unreadable. But Ahmanis—he looked at her with soft, pleading eyes, silently begging for mercy.

Henry turned to Everlyn and gestured grandly to their surroundings. "Welcome to Prodigium, Ms. O'Conner. From the Latin—monstrum vel prodigium." His voice carried an air of authority, of scientific detachment. "A warning of monsters."

He glanced around the room before adding, "Forgive the state of things. We had very little time to prepare for our guest and only the information Jennifer provided to go on." Everlyn snapped her head toward Jenny, her eyes blazing with betrayal. Jenny stood beside Nick, who looked equally shocked. "In truth," Henry continued smoothly, stepping beside Jenny, "she works for us. It's not an exact science, this business."

Nick's face twisted in disbelief. "What? And the business being...?"

Henry turned to him, his smile never faltering. "Evil, Mr. Morton." He spoke the word casually, as though it were merely another item on his list of specialties. "Recognize. Contain. Examine. Destroy."

He then gestured toward Ahmanis, whose unwavering stare remained fixed on Everlyn.

"He is by far the most ancient we've ever encountered."

Everlyn's gaze shifted to the tubes, watching the silver liquid seep into Ahmanis' body. Her stomach tightened. "What are you doing to him?" she asked, concern lacing her tone.

Henry barely spared her a glance. "Embalming him. With mercury." He adjusted his gloves, continuing in a measured voice. "At minus thirty-eight degrees, the mercury in his veins will solidify. He should be safe for dissection then."

Jenny's head snapped toward him, her expression one of alarm. "Dissection? You said we'd study him."

As their voices clashed, Everlyn took a step closer to Ahmanis. He watched her carefully before his lips parted, his voice weak yet steady as he spoke in his ancient tongue.

"My beloved... if they kill me, they will kill you. It is not a curse. It is a gift that will never be broken."

His words hung in the air like a prophecy.

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By: SilverMist707

<3 <3