The doors to Beatrice's bedchamber swung open, breaking the week-long sanctuary of her self-imposed isolation.
Eula Morgenstein stepped inside and immediately noticed the state of the chamber. Clothes were scattered everywhere, and half-empty glasses of blood wine were on different tables.
At the center of it all was an enormous canopy bed, with a figure was lying beneath the blankets, refusing to acknowledge the world.
"Whoever that is," came Beatrice's muffled voice from under the covers, "go away. I want to be alone."
Eula's lips curved into a devious smile as she closed the door behind her. She adopted an exaggeratedly sweet tone as she said, "It's your sister, Eula."
There was a pause, then the blanket shifted slightly.
"Especially you, Eula," Beatrice said. "You only remember we're related when you want something."
Eula let out a genuine chuckle at that.
