“By the blood of my father, what the hell are you doing?” I paused the motion of hand-combing my hair at the sudden intrusion.
“I am trying to look presentable?” I phrased my reply as a question, wondering what he was on about.
“No, what is that awful sound coming out of your mouth?” If my skin could heat, I would be redder than a tomato then.
Thanks to Lucille, I forgot how much of a terrible singer I was. I realized I missed her. I missed my life. I missed having a schedule, having things to do, having a friend to speak to and something to occupy time with. In this dread of a castle, I had nothing to do, nothing to look forward to. No duties or friends.
Then I remembered the painful blow of betrayal Lucille dealt me. It should not even surprise me. She made a habit of lying to me.
