Senna's mind, which had been so sharp and calculating, was now a blank, white-hot wall of panic. Her entire, brilliant, cruel scheme had just, in a single, unforeseen instant, blown up in her face.
She had to think. She fell back on her one, true defense: she became a victim.
Her hard, angry expression crumpled. Her eyes, which had been glittering with malice, instantly filled with huge, tragic, overflowing tears. Her lower lip began to tremble, a perfect, pitiful, heartbreaking quiver.
"Your Grace," she whispered, her voice a broken, trembling sound. She took a small, stumbling step towards him, her hands clasped in front of her as if in prayer. "The dress… it… it was in the box you told me to... to dispose of. But when I saw it…"
