"Please help me," the nurse cried desperately as I walked away from her.

I paused to turn and sling her an indifferent look and said, "You've two choices. Number one, continue to bleed out and die; or number two, drink those bags of blood that were meant for me."

"I - I can't drink that blood, you - you don't understand," she stammered.

"Oh, I understand. You've poisoned those blood bags, and you know what will happen to your body when you drink them. You'll finally get to feel the pain I felt when I first woke up," I replied, remembering the terrible searing pain in my abdomen and the uncontrollable retching that I'd experienced after waking up from my coma.

She opened her mouth to argue my point but quickly fell quiet. I studied her as she thought carefully about what to say next me. I wondered if she'd be honest and confess her guilt or continue to pretend that she was innocent in all of this.

Calmly she composed herself and said to me, "You're having a delusion your Highness. Those blood bags are perfectly safe, you just think that they're poisoned because your sick."

"Oh really," I laughed, "then you won't mind drinking them."

She winced, and floundered for something to say. Her eyes nervously eyed up the bags of blood I'd dumped on her, and she shook her head, "No, please ... You - you don't understand," she said, her voice breaking up, "I can't drink them."

"Why not? I mean, if they're perfectly safe, then why can't you drink them?" I asked.

She fell silent again, unable or unwilling to provide me with an answer. Her silence was infuriating. She'd clearly been caught out, so there was no point in keeping up the charade.

I folded my arms across my chest and said, "Look, if you admit the truth and tell me why you're trying to poison me, then I might consider calling for help."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she replied.

"Fine," I said throwing up my hands in defeat, "You can lie there and bleed to death - see if I care."

I thought this might provoke some kind of response, but to my surprise she continued to plea her innocence with the same tired excuses. Frustrated and annoyed I told her, "I've explained your choices, so now choose."

"You don't understand," she said for the millionth time.

"I do understand, I just don't care. Now, make your choice," I said and turned my back on her and walked across the room.

Nurse Poison cried out in anguish, while I crawled back into bed and pulled the bed covers around me to converse the precious little warmth that I had. If I could, I'd had walked out the room and let her get on with it, but I worried that if I left the room, the guards might notice and someone would discover her. So, I sat on the bed and quietly waited to see what she'd do.

At this point, I'd half expected to feel some kind of guilt or remorse for what I'd done to her, but oddly it never came. Sure, I know she is a poisoning bitch and she deserved to get a taste of her own medicine (or poison), but this wasn't me - this wasn't my style or philosophy. I wasn't an angry or revengeful person, and I certainly wasn't a murderer, so why didn't I feel bad about it, or even slightly uncomfortable with myself? I was literally watching this woman bleed out in front of me, and I was completely unaffected.

What the hell's wrong with me?

I wanted to feel sorry for her, or at least a tiny bit bad about what I'd done to her, but I couldn't. The guilt I'd half expected never came, and instead I just felt this deep sense of zen like wellbeing, that this woman, this threat to my being and my unborn baby was being successfully dealt with. My hand rested protectively over my stomach, and I felt a wave of incredible warmth and love wash over me as I imagined my little baby sleeping quietly and safely inside of me.

"Your not the first one this has happened to," a thready voice from across the room rasped.

I lifted my head up and saw the nurse staring at me with wide vacant eyes from across the room. She was still lying down on the floor, but she seemed paler, or rather an unnatural shade of waxy grey. Her mouth hung open unnaturally as her lungs struggled to drag in enough air. It was horrible to look at, and it reminded me of the undead corpses that had overseen my wedding to Luc that night in the graveyard on Halloween.

"What do you mean I'm not the first person?" I asked.

Her thin blue lips curved into a smirk and she said gasping, "You ... think you're special ... but we done this before. Dozens of ... times."

"What do you mean?" I asked crawling to the edge of the bed.

"They're been ... so many ... like you. I can see them now ... I can see them all," she said looking into an empty dark corner of the bedroom.

I got up from the bed and walked over to her, and was careful to tiptoed around the sticky black pool of blood that surrounded her. Leaning over her I said, "Tell me what you mean and I'll call for help."

"It's ... too late," she said.

"No," I said dropping down to my knees, forgetting about blood. I grabbed her shoulders and lightly shook them, "You need to tell me why," I demanded.

She looked up at me and smirked, then with one final exhale, her eyes became glassy and vacant. Suddenly I felt the heavy weight of her shoulders sagging against my hold as the tension in her body dissolved into limp lifelessness. I let go of her shoulders and rocked back on my heels. Shit, shit, shit, she was dead.