"Good morning," Atticus' voice, despite being of the comforting kind in its depth, still rang like thorny vines against Arabella's eardrums.
The young woman straightened to a sitting position, wincing as the cuts on her back rubbed the sheets beneath them.
Not calm but defeated… Arabella had gotten to a stage of mind numbness that left very little to be reflected on her face.
Her hand went over to her uncollared neck, but aside from her eyes widening very momentarily, she made not another peep.
"I took the liberty of removing it again," the General sat at the edge of the bed, facing a well garnished breakfast table, "I don't want to see it on you,"
Arabella cleared her throat very sheepishly before finally daring to say something, "Would you please put it back on before leaving me, sir?"
In reply, the man halted all movement, and just turned his head back, the glare on him not so threatening but… A bit dubious.
Was he going to strike? Yell at her?
