Lydia lay fast asleep. Her face was still stained with tears. The skin around her eyes was swollen and red, proof that she had cried until her body gave in to exhaustion. Her breathing was soft, but there was no peace in it. Even in her sleep, she looked broken. Her shoulders rose and fell as if her chest carried something heavy that refused to leave.
Her body bore marks of her anger and despair. Her neck, her wrists, her shoulders, all showed small bruises from when she had pulled and torn at her dress and jewels earlier. Her underdress was loose and wrinkled, not meant to be slept in, but she had collapsed in it anyway.
Katherine moved slowly and carefully. She did not want to wake her. She reached out and pulled the blanket over Lydia's fragile body, tucking it gently around her. Her hand lingered on Lydia's hair. She stroked it once, slowly, with all the care of a mother soothing a child, but she pulled her hand back quickly, afraid that even a soft touch might disturb her.
