After enduring another round of mental torment and humiliation in that hellish study, Elara was dragged back to her tower cell like an object by Frau Helga. The reopened wound on her lip throbbed painfully, a constant reminder of the man's deep-seated cruelty and perversion. And the Duke's final words about "more interesting things"—tasking her with polishing all the armor and weapons in his study—hung over her head like another sword, chilling her to the bone.
Physical exhaustion and pain, coupled with the immense daily mental stress and fear, nearly broke Elara completely. She curled up on the cold plank bed, feeling like a string stretched taut to its limit, ready to snap at any moment.
No! I can't break down like this!
If her body gave out, she would truly have no capital left for resistance! She had to find a way, fight for a moment's respite, even just a day, half a day! Enough to recover some strength, and more importantly, allow her frayed nerves a sliver of relief so she could continue thinking, continue searching for that sliver of hope!
An old, yet risky idea resurfaced in Elara's mind—feigning illness.
The last time, at the hunting ground, her simple trick had been easily seen through by the Duke, resulting in a more terrifying warning. This time, she knew the risk was greater; if exposed, the consequences would be unimaginable. But she had no better options. She was like a drowning person clinging desperately to a piece of driftwood, even knowing it might be rotten.
This time, she had to act more convincingly, more realistically, more... flawlessly.
She began to carefully recall the appearance of genuinely sick people she had seen in her past life, and the vague impressions of illness from the original Elara's memory—plague, chills, and the weakness caused by starvation and overwork.
She started deliberately reducing her already meager food intake, drinking only small amounts of water, making her face appear paler, more haggard. She lay in bed, minimizing movement, cultivating a sickly weakness. In the dead of night, she even secretly used her fingers to gag herself, producing sounds of nausea and dry heaving (though she didn't dare actually vomit, fearing leaving evidence). She would also let out suppressed, intermittent coughs when Frau Helga or the serving maid might be passing the door—quiet, but audible.
She needed to portray a pitiful creature finally succumbing to illness due to chronic malnutrition, overwork, and mental distress. This kind of "illness" best fit her identity as "Object Seven," making it less likely to arouse suspicion.
As expected, her "performance" caught Frau Helga's attention.
That evening, during dinner delivery, Frau Helga didn't just stop outside the hatch as usual. She opened the door and stepped inside. Her sharp eyes, like X-rays, scanned Elara lying on the bed—pale, lips cracked, breathing shallowly.
"What is this?" Frau Helga's voice remained cold, devoid of any concern.
Elara answered in an extremely weak tone, as if she might expire at any second, "An... answering Madam... this servant... this servant feels... weak all over... dizzy... nauseous..." She punctuated her words with a feeble cough.
Frau Helga walked to the bedside, bent down, and placed her cold, twig-like fingers on Elara's forehead.
"No fever," she stated coldly, her eyes filled with scrutiny and suspicion. "You just look... somewhat weak."
Elara's heart tightened, terrified of being exposed. She quickly closed her eyes, furrowing her brow, feigning intense pain.
Frau Helga stared at her for a long moment, seemingly weighing something. Finally, she didn't call for the physician, nor did she say much more. She simply instructed the serving maid behind her, "Take away tonight's dinner. Give her a bowl of hot water. Tomorrow morning, half rations."
Then, she turned back to Elara, her tone laced with warning, "Object Seven, I do not wish to see any... unnecessary trouble. If your condition doesn't improve by tomorrow, I will notify the physician. But if I find you are feigning illness..." She didn't finish, but her icy gaze said everything.
Only after Frau Helga left did Elara dare to slowly open her eyes, letting out a long sigh of relief. Step one seemed... successful, for now. But Frau Helga's indifference and suspicion left her deeply uneasy.
She didn't know how long she could keep up the act, nor whether... that true demon would once again see through her clumsy ruse.
But regardless, she had bought herself a little... perhaps extremely brief, respite. She had to use this time wisely, think carefully about her next move.