"Will she live, sir?" A voice rang up distantly in the darkness of Carlotta's black dreams. It's echo was akin to that of a sound made in a tunnel.
"Ye, bu' I doub' she gonna recover from 'er breathin' problems. She gonna 'ave ter chew on some o' them 'erbs all the time. S'bad luck tha' i' star'ed rainin'. Infec'ed 'er lungs, tha', as'f there's worse."
Dolores' eyes fluttered open and shut themselves at least fifty times before she could make out the dim light glowing somewhere to her right. There was a flash and a loud bang as Thunder and rain battered against the windows to what appeared to be her room. With a panicked startle she shoot up and sat straight, but flinched and clutched her chest, breathing sharply in pain. Opening her robes she saw that her chest had been covered with a bandage, and a distinct scent of herbs filled the entire room. Staring around she came face to face with her own blonde-haired mother, Fréawyn, who was looking at her daughter with a scared and worried look.
"Lie down, lass." A voice somewhere commanded. Her breathing becoming somewhat ragged and deep she complied, a burning in her chest making her recoil as she set her head to the pillow.
"Dora.." Her mother cried, and almost flung herself ontop of her daughter in anticipation.
"Ow... Ma, it hurts." Dora's muffled voice came. Her mother carefully sat up and took her daughter's hand tightly, smiling in relief, tears of joy streaming in her face.
"I am so glad you are all right..." Dolores didn't pay attention to her mother's ramblings as her eyes fell to a portrait of Carlotta hanging in the Hallway beyond her room. Suddenly her head hurt and memories flooded to her mind.
"I'm so sorry, Dora... we're going to get you home..."
The rain flooded and drenched her entire face as she flicked her eyes about in the poor visibility of the rain. Barely breathing, but feeling cold and coughing hard, Dolores struggled not to give in to the sickness that was looming over her, threatening to worsen her already-poor condition--
Suddenly, as she was lowered to the mud-covered cobblestone, Dolores heard screaming and yelling. Her sister's voice no doubt.
Yet the sickness had already managed to penetrate her body and was slowly wreaking havoc upon the poor girl's frail body. As finally her consciousness degraded, the last sound she heard was an "You all righ' there, missy?" before her mind faded to black in sleepless dreams.
But at this another question burned within her mind as her eyes rested on the portrait of her sister. Where was Carlotta?
((Sorry if it's a bit short, but there's more to Carlotta's story than Dolores', actually))
