Revamp of this tale

“Hell!” I cursed aloud.

The familiar but cruel throbbing pain crept up my leg to rob me of any ounce of rest. Months had past yet the injures I suffered refused to heal and yelling at my misfortune was only thing I could do.

Unable to bare the pain a moment longer I pressed myself against the wall, to stay up right, and aimed my sights to the nearby dresser. Limping I felt my way using the wall, as a clutch, to reach the damn thing.

Struggling I ripped the dresser open pulling out a small envelope with a small, hand written message wrote on its side.

‘Small reminder dear cousin be sure to take one a day. I repeat one a day. The wounded kitten act, doesn’t give you an excuse to be idiotic.’

The envelope reeked of expensive perfume, deducting it was written by my sweet, narcissist of a cousin. Half my mind had thought of tossing it away. The other half however choose correctly, wasting no time tearing the paper open, impatient I used my teeth, and out fell a number of small pills onto my palm.

Staring blankly at the small, white, pills I down the entire handful, without thinking about the consequences. Sometime if not seconds past and the pain in my leg fell as quickly as it rose. I sharp but relaxed sigh escaped my lips, I was myself once again and lucky enough a mirror hung into front of me to help me not look like an entire mess.

The mirror revealed a pale creature taking her mother’s locks of curly, raven black hair falling in a cascade of curls on her shapely shoulders. Her face was very pale, triangular in shape with a slightly receded chin. Her eyes were cold and sparkling with a remarkable blue penetrating gaze. Unfortunately those very eyes also conceal the unyielding ambition that her father once held.

To busy viewing at the pale woman into front of me, I broke myself from the distraction and blew out the candle light. Before I knew it my hand grasped the wooded grip of a revolver and aimed it towards a noise.

Panting I was competent that it was only the sound of a horse and carriage stopping outside. Months recovering yet here I was paranoid. Acting like a freighted child. “Pathetic!”

A familiar voice helped to put me at ease as my cousin shouted from the front door. “John! For the last. I don’t care if you're dressed or not time to go!” Perhaps a little too familiar?