"Ms. Serena, please," the leading servant gestured with a beckoning hand.
Tears streaked down Serena's cheeks as she forced a bitter smile. Once upon a time, these very servants would have rushed to her aid had she stumbled. Now, they stood before her, impeccably lined
up, clutching her belongings, not a hint of intention to help her up.
How quickly the tables turn.
In truth, the servants were too scared to approach, fearful of losing their jobs in the face of Mrs.Collins's wrath. But to Serena, it was clear they were fair-weather friends, keeping their distance now that she had fallen out of favor, no longer the attentive helpers they once were.
With great effort, Serena pushed herself off the ground. A light drizzle fell, and the chill wind cut through her, as cold as the attitudes around her.
Bruised from a beating the previous night and further injured from her fall, she staggered to her feet, her clothes stained and disheveled, a picture of utter disarray.
