𝖊𝖘𝖈𝖗𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖎𝖆 - 𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝟜: 𝖚𝖓𝖙𝖔𝖑𝖉 𝖒𝖞𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘

𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝟜: 𝖚𝖓𝖙𝖔𝖑𝖉 𝖒𝖞𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 - Chapter Nine

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As soon as my glass hits the desk with a thunk, all is fine.

I do not feel any different.

In fact, I barely taste anything at all, just a burning bitterness down my throat.

And then—

I start coughing.

The flavors start colliding.

My taste buds blur together until I cannot tell the difference between sweet and salty, tart and savory. I taste the cinnamon and anise, but they are not distinct anymore. Instead, they merge together into something that is greater than the sum of its parts, something that's unlike anything I have ever tasted before.

My tongue feels heavy with honey and wood, like I have just taken a sip of pure ambrosia. I can taste the bitter, dried apricots, and a new taste: a hint of black pepper that lingers on the back of my tongue. The flavors are intense and unfamiliar, and I am left disoriented as I try to make sense of the complexity of the drink. But as I take another sip, I realize that I am enjoying the challenge as I explore the nuances of this unique combination.

So sweet it's bitter, so bitter it's sweet—that is the essence of the drink. The diversity of the varieties is an intriguing and invigorating dichotomy, and I find myself wanting more.

Craving.

Clawing.

What have I done?

The liquor has a thick and varied taste—or tastes—with overtones of floral and fruity flavors as well as earthy and smoky notes. It can be bitter, sweet, sharp, and smooth all at the same time, in an unbalanced and irresistible union. Such does not stop me from downing the rest down to the very last trickle.

I have never had alcohol throughout all my sixteen years of life. Juliette is only three minutes younger, and yet she consumed three bottles a day without our mother knowing back home. Liquor is her thing. She knows all about these vintages. I do not. In the event that the prince's reserve contained such bottles of its caliber, this wine would certainly cost more than the entire empire could afford, and it would probably be just as potent.

It would make it a truly priceless item—one that could not be obtained with any amount of money.

One drunk by people with experience.

One that certainly wouldn't be a beginner's choice.

After the last drop of wine, I find myself in a sort of trance-like state, my head thumping the desk, my tongue still thick and tingling. My limbs feel like feathers, as if I could float away in a dreamy stupor, my brain filled with a strange buzz. My surroundings are wispy and surreal, as if I am not quite in the same world anymore.

The lamplight maintains its warming glow to remind me that I am still in the manor, yet its brilliance is strangely hazy and distant, like a light at the end of a tunnel. Everything smells of the sweet, bitter liquid that I just consumed.

I feel an eerie sensation of intoxication, as if my body and mind are being liberated from the gravity of reality. My thoughts are as muddled as a puddle. I feel like I am spinning, but I am not sure if the room is actually rotating or if it is my foggy head that is spinning in circles.

All I can feel is the vertigo of a thousand dancing stars, their bright lights mesmerizing me, captivating me in a web of dizzying delight.

I am sure I moaned in bliss, but it does not reach my ears, as if I am trapped in a bubble, deaf to the world around me.