Both Ada's and Edna's words rang loud through Arabella's mind, so incessantly echoing against the inner walls of her skull that she'd started repeating them to herself in her own voice.
"The Master has never invited anyone to his chambers in order to recite poems before" and "What other use could he have for you?"
The wait for Lady Persephone did not help the rising pressure that constricted the blood in her veins one bit. The young woman had hastened towards the lounge room as soon as the sun had kissed the horizon line.
Sitting there stiffly, the whole time she alternated between tugging at her sleeves, scratching at the wood of the armchair and clenching the skirt of her gown.
Although, her patience was more or less rewarded when the Lady appeared through the door.
Arabella sprung up at once in order to curtsy before her gracious hostess.
"My Lady," she muttered.
