Madeline scrambled across the frosted earth, falling hard onto her knees beside her grandmother's still form. The stillness was wrong. The silence was deafening. "Grandma! Grandmother, please wake up!" Her voice was frantic, desperate, echoing off the cold stone of the mansion.
She grabbed Maria's hands. They were like ice, the skin tight and waxy. Madeline rubbed them, chafing the lifeless fingers, trying to force warmth back into the woman who was her entire world. From the moment she could remember, Maria had been her shelter from the storm, her guiding star in a harsh, cold life. If that light went out, Madeline knew with terrifying certainty that she would be lost in an endless night.
Tears streaming down her face, she sprinted back to the house, stumbling through the imposing back door, ignoring Rita's sneer. She found Mrs. Woodsman in the grand hall.
"My grandma!" Madeline gasped, breathless, collapsing onto the marble floor at the woman's feet. "Please... help her! She's not moving!"
A new presence emerged from the shadows at the top of the grand staircase—Mr. Woodsman himself. He was a mountain of a man, his face puffy with sleep and irritation, his silk robe tied loosely at his waist.
"What is this racket?" his voice boomed, rumbling through the silent house. The air seemed to grow thick with his displeasure.
"Please, sir," Madeline choked out, "it's my grandmother. She... she's not moving. I think she's dying."
The words hung heavy in the air. Mr. Woodsman stared at the shivering girl on his floor. A long, agonizing moment passed. Finally, a flicker of cold calculation crossed his face. He nodded to a servant, who disappeared into the night. A few minutes later, a rickety, mud-stained carriage rattled to a stop outside the back entrance. Maria's frail body was gently, indifferently loaded inside.
They were taken not to the grand physician in the city, but to the village herbalist, a bent, wise old man named Elias whose shop smelled of dried sage and dust.
Inside the dim, cluttered room, Elias examined Maria by candlelight. Madeline watched his face for a sign of hope, but found none. He pressed a finger to Maria's wrist, then shook his head gravely.
"She has not been caring for herself," Elias pronounced, turning to Mr. Woodsman. "Extreme exhaustion. Malnutrition. Her candle is burning at both ends, fast. To treat her, to bring her back from the brink, I need potent elixirs, rare ingredients." He paused, his gaze meeting Madeline's. "Ten silver coins."
Ten silver coins. The sum hit Madeline like a physical blow. It was a fortune, more money than she had seen in her entire life. Her heart seized in her chest. She had nothing.
She turned desperately to Mr. Woodsman, scrambling to her feet. "Please, Mr. Woodsman," she begged, tears blinding her, falling to her knees once more. "Please, loan me the money. I promise, I swear on my life, I will pay you back every single coin."
Mr. Woodsman crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing into slits of pure avarice. "And how, precisely, do you plan on returning such a sum? Your grandmother barely earns a half-coin a month."
"I'll do anything," she pleaded, gripping the hem of his expensive coat. "Please, she is all I have in the world. I'll work for you forever if I have to. Anything you ask."
A slow, chilling smirk spread across Mr. Woodsman's face, a look that promised a future of unending servitude and sorrow. The silence in the herbalist's shop stretched, heavy with unspoken terms. Finally, he gave a sharp nod.
"Done," he said, the word a steel trap closing around her future. He pulled out a small leather pouch and tossed ten silver coins onto the herbalist's rough wooden counter with a cold, ringing clink. The sound sealed Madeline's fate.