TWENTY-FOUR
FAUSTIA
Days passed Violet by in muddled awareness. When she finally pulled herself from the depths of her melancholy, she looked around her surrounding with distaste. Filled with ghastly shades of pink intended to mimic femininity, her stomach soured at the sight of its saccharine softness.
Leila sat beside Violet's bed, mending stockings, when a knock sounded on the door. Violet's hand shot out, gripping Leila's arm. Her wide eyes locked onto the doors.
"That'll be your breakfast," Leila advised, prying Violet's fingers free, then retrieving the breakfast from the servant on the other side of the door. Tray in hand, Leila rejoined Violet, setting the tray on the bed's edge. "If I promise to answer your questions, will you eat?"
Violet eyed the fruit and soft-boiled eggs
