The Burned Wife Reborn For Spectacular Revenge

Ava walked into the massive French-style dining room. A crystal chandelier cast a warm, golden glow over the long oak table. She pulled out the chair to the right of the head seat and sat down. Her stomach rumbled loudly. The fever had burned through her calories, leaving a hollow, gnawing ache in her gut. A maid in a black-and-white uniform stepped forward. She placed a folded white linen napkin across Ava's lap. "To start, Miss," the maid said softly. She set a small porcelain plate on the table. In the center rested a dollop of Beluga caviar, surrounded by thin crackers and a smear of crème fraîche. Next to the plate was a small bowl of steaming seafood chowder. The rich smell of butter and kelp filled the air. Ava picked up the small mother-of-pearl spoon. She scooped up a cluster of the black eggs and placed them on her tongue. She pressed the caviar against the roof of her mouth. The eggs popped. A burst of intense, salty brine flooded her taste buds. Instantly, a physical shockwave hit the base of her skull. Her vision went black. The warm light of the dining room vanished. The air turned freezing cold. The pressure against her skin was immense, crushing her chest. She was underwater. Deep, dark water. She felt the rough scrape of scales against her sides. She tried to breathe, but water rushed over her gills. Suddenly, a massive, rough rope net slammed into her. The coarse fibers dug into her flesh. Panic exploded in her brain. She thrashed wildly, but the net tightened, dragging her upward at a terrifying speed. Ava gasped in the dining room. Her hands gripped the edge of the heavy oak table so hard her knuckles turned white. The vision did not stop. Blinding white spotlights pierced her eyes. She was slammed onto a hard wooden deck. The air burned her lungs. A shadow loomed over her. A sharp, freezing pain sliced through her abdomen. The blade ripped her open from tail to throat. The agony was absolute. The mother-of-pearl spoon slipped from Ava's fingers. It hit the porcelain plate with a sharp clink. Ava's eyes snapped open. She was drenched in cold sweat. Her chest heaved violently as she sucked in the air of the dining room. "Miss Ava?" The maid stepped forward, her eyes wide with alarm. "Are you unwell?" A violent wave of nausea hit Ava's stomach. The taste of the brine mixed with the phantom sensation of blood. She slapped her hand over her mouth, shoved her chair back, and ran. She sprinted down the hallway and slammed the bathroom door open. She dropped to her knees in front of the marble toilet. Her stomach violently contracted. She vomited the caviar and stomach acid until her throat burned and her ribs ached. She stayed on the floor, panting. She reached up and flushed the toilet. She pulled herself up using the edge of the marble sink. She turned on the cold water and splashed it over her face. The freezing water shocked her system back to reality. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her skin was gray. The blood vessels in her eyes were bright red. It wasn't a hallucination. The pain was too specific, too physiological. She grabbed a thick towel, wiped her face, and walked back to the dining room. The maid was reaching for the plates. "Leave it," Ava ordered. She sat back down. She stared at the bowl of seafood chowder. She picked up a silver spoon. Her hand trembled slightly. She scooped up a piece of shrimp covered in thick broth. She forced it into her mouth and swallowed. The vision hit instantly. Boiling water. Her skin turning instantly rigid. The excruciating, suffocating heat cooking her alive. Ava dropped the spoon. She grabbed the edge of the table and squeezed her eyes shut until the phantom pain faded. She opened her eyes. She looked at her hands. She had brought something back from the fire.