Gwendolyn leaned against her bedchamber door, slamming it shut. The sounds of agonizing screams coming from downstairs did not cease, however. In fact, she heard them louder and clearer than before. Her father would be displeased, he'd punish her severely, she scoffed softly at the thought of his glove-covered hand slapping her across the face as he usually did. She'd been in the library, a place her father had forbid her from visiting. Just as she was leaving, a young servant girl had walked by, their arms having brushed together. The dim light in the library had at least helped her escape without being seen.
Many times, she repeated the same thing to herself, as if practicing for when her father would come to accuse her of being reckless: "It wasn't your fault. It was that silly servant's. It's a rule that long-sleeved shirts be worn at all time." She slowly sat on her bed, yanking the blue ribbon from her hair, destroying the ponytail that it had previously been in. She rested her pale hands on the hem of her knee-length, light-green, body-hugging dress. It was what the servants had shoved her in for the afternoon, for there was to be a dinner; a rare one at which she was actually allowed to eat with others, where she'd meet her sir-in-waiting. She'd get rid of this one even quicker than she'd sent her previous one running.
She let out a soft sigh, running her hands through her now loose black hair. The sounds of footsteps made her cringe slightly, her father coming to finally slap her, maybe. As if it was her fault that he'd poisoned
her, as if it was her fault that she herself was poison
. She took a pair of gloves from her dresser, they'd been made specially for this dress. They went up to her elbow, as the dress itself was sleeveless.