Beverly sat on the chair, motionless. The woman who smiled and taught her was gone and in its place, a husk remains. Her eyes did not lift and her lips did not move. Marigold stood there with her eyes wide, she couldn't believe she was the same woman she knew.
Marjorie looked at Marigold and softly led her to the chair. A woman wearing a black servant dress and an apron stood near the chair and fed Beverly pottage. Her jaws seldom moved to chew them. "She is under the influence of milk of poppy now, or else she would not stop crying," Marjorie's lips quivered.
"What was I doing?" Marigold thought. "I saw it... I saw it with my eyes and I did not look for eyes. Am I a monster?" her mind shouted.
"Will she... get better?" Words fumbled out of her mouth and she knew it was a stupid question. She will not get better, not after something like that.
