I marched toward the stables with purpose, each step fueled by a seething rage that had been brewing for years. The smell of hay and horses grew stronger as I approached the barn where Clara's prized mare was kept. But first, I needed something else.
Diverting to the compost pile behind the kitchen gardens, I grabbed a wooden bucket and filled it with the vilest mixture I could find—horse manure, rotting food scraps, and whatever other foul substances were decomposing there. The stench made my eyes water, but I barely noticed, focused entirely on my mission.
With the bucket in hand, I made my way to the manor house. I knew exactly where Clara would be—enjoying her afternoon bath, as she did every day at this time. The predictability of her routine would be her undoing today.
