Chrono Codex (in sickness and in health)

00:00 - prologue

"On Thursday 15th May a woman, age 48, mysteriously fell sick and unconscious at 6:30pm  in Wiltons, one of London's finest, most prestigious restaurants, since established in the 1840s. It's reported that after numerous sips of costly red wine, Agnes Chettle began to 'grow ghastly pale and drowsy, unable to speak or swallow. She had then started shivering with sweat and suddenly fell unconscious there and then.' Sources now say that Chettle passed shortly after being hospitalised, and citizens wonder whether London's Wiltons is safe to dine at. The restaurant has been temporarily closed for upcoming weeks, and members of staff, who were on shift as this tragic incident took place, are all actively being questioned by police."

Agnes Chettle, a well respected wealthy woman of esteemed influence, her hands always gloved with money. For all her expenses were self-made as someone who had always worked tirelessly and planned out her future ahead of time, and never for a second did the mere thought of relying on her husband for money ever cross her mind. Her high standing was matched only by said husband, Richard Chettle, a man of equal importance. She definitely could've done without him - although the two made a formidable pairing, whose opulent lifestyle was a testament to their success. In a city where for most, it was difficult to afford basic groceries, the Chettle's could purchase above and beyond if they wanted to, and for that their presence sparked controversy in the conversations around them.

Their power-gloved life was desirable on the inside out. Everything was going perfectly according to plan, or so Agnes thought until she spotted a formal looking letter slip through the door - pristinely packaged in a fine smoothly finished envelope, sealed by a glossy, royal purple wax stamp. In the foyer, she gracefully unsealed the envelope to find a handwritten letter; each figment of every calligraphic word musically drawn on with sophistication, only the musical essence was a daunting, unapologetic, merciless song. 
"We regret to inform you, Mrs Chettle, that your husband, Mr Richard Chettle, was seen with another woman..."
Her face fell into devastation, continuing to read on only filled her with more anguish. In an attempt to deny it all, Agnes flipped to the back of the clean cut sheet, only revealing to her what she dreaded most, evidence. An authentic photo of Richard Chettle, lips illicitly intertwined with an unknown woman. A woman, younger, fairer, who was nowhere near as well heeled, prosperous as Agnes herself somehow had the capability to undoubtedly rip apart everything Agnes had worked her life to. Ofcourse, she valued her hard earned affluence and luxury - but the comfortable sentiment of romance and loving company ended up meaning more to her than she'd initially thought. Instant regret caught up to her, as she stood isolated, vulnerable, realising the one irreplaceable aspect of her life was something she had taken for granted. For her younger self seemed to only be infatuated with the faultless dream wedding, manifested by cash rather than cupid.

  However, a woman like her wasn't going to let the news tear her down. Of course, for weeks her disoriented self had no clue on how to perform in the given circumstance, until she was struck with an hounding idea - a somewhat calculated plan. If loving Richard spiked weakness within her then perhaps it was time to reclaim the power she'd always had to begin with.

Weeks of her furtively grieving what once was a strong marriage passed like an insignificant speck of dust. She now took it as a challenge, and decided her closure would come in sabotage, rather than self improvement. Agnes meticulously plotted her retaliation, intending to remind Richard of what's meant by 'In sickness and in health'. The sickness she planned to inflict wouldn't be tenderly cared for, rather a poison of vengeance.
The poison filled vial she held in her purse was what she planned to slip in Richard's drink on their date night at Wilton's restaurant, where she would start the night concealing the turmoil and slight inner tyranny within her.

Wearing a mask of calm composure, she would constantly discern the bartender's movements after the 'couple' had ordered their drinks. With an intricate glance, Agnes seized the opportunity to excuse herself as the bartender was momentarily turned away. Telling Richard she needed to use the bathroom, she glided towards where the wine glasses were, almost ready to arrive at the table, but unattended to. Manoeuvring through a maze of tables, she could only hear the blurred murmur of conversations, and subtle clinking of glasses.

The suspense was eating Agnes within before she reached that secluded corner, swiftly retrieving her vengeant vial. Her elegantly gloved fingers intricately unscrewed the lid, to which unveiled the tetrodotoxin, found in puffer fish and blue-ringed octopi. The toxin supposedly was meant to burn the lips and tongue, shut down the body after numerous seizures. Said victim would allegedly be paralysed head to toe in a lucid state before the body then gut-wrenchingly gives up on itself. Hesitantly, but surely, she poured it straight into her husband's drink, identical to hers, tossed her white silk gloves aside, and seemingly strode back to her seat upon noticing the young, tired and troubled looking waitress heading in the direction of the drinks, Agnes' eyes slightly widened in subtle panic, but easily made it back to her table. The waitress only succinctly clocked the luxury gloves, tossed aside like nothing. It was unusual, but not her business, it was just her duty to serve drinks.
Agnes was ready to take one last look at her husband before his last toast. Everything was going perfectly according to plan, or so Agnes thought, until she spotted her accidental fate.