As if the invisible fire consuming half her face wasn't enough, her head had banged the ground too, sending the ringing in her ears to unprecedented heights of agonizing.
But that wasn't enough for Zarah. The old hag grabbed Arabella by the hair and pulled her up by nothing other than the sheer follicles connecting those frail raven threads to her scalp.
The young woman did nothing but wince and whimper, the first distinguishable thing after the blur that hit her vision being Irene's trembling figure.
"I asked you a simple question, whore!" Zarah practically spat in Arabella's face, "Who gave you permission to speak?"
With a handprint flaring red on her cheek, Arabella stammered a few times before finally answering her question, "No one gave me permission to speak, mistress,"
"Exactly!" she shook the young woman's already rattled head, "And yet you dared! What do you have to say for yourself, slut?"
"Please, forgive me, mistress! I won't do it again!" she cried.
