I lay on the cold, marble floor, the room spinning around me as I tried to gather my bearings. The clamor of voices and the sharp echoes of chaos filled the air, but through the din, a part of me felt a strange, detached clarity. Everything had happened so quickly, yet in my mind, time seemed to stretch and warp, every detail simultaneously vivid and surreal.
As I struggled to rise, the sound of my mother’s voice broke through the noise. “Charles, what have you done?” she yelled, her voice a mix of disbelief and fury. I managed to sit up, gingerly touching the side of my head. My fingers came away sticky with blood, and I felt a nauseating wave of dizziness wash over me.
The guests had formed a loose circle around us, their expressions a blend of shock, horror, and a morbid curiosity. My father, Charles, stood just a few feet away, his face flushed with anger, but also with a hint of uncomprehending fear. It was as if he himself could not believe what he had done.
