JASMINE
The coachman didn’t speak. His jaw clenched for the briefest of moments but then he rolled his eyes dismissively. Before they glazed over as Elsa’s had not long before, I extended my already long, sharp claws, and then dug them deep into his belly.
The coachman shrieked as blood splattered out and my voice hardened.
“Don’t play tricks or attempt anything stupid,” I warned him. “Next time, it’ll be your neck. I don’t want to repeat myself again. Answer my question. Who is your Master?”
A whimper escaped him. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen the Master’s face. He’s always wearing a mask. We receive orders and then we obey, no questions asked.”
“That seems convenient,” I remarked annoyedly, and just as I started to raise my claws, he continued to speak.
“I m-m-met the Master when
