"A matching… pair?" Alistair echoed. He looked a little confused, with eyebrows furrowed and his lips pursed tightly together. He watched as Hazelle sobbed, nodding.
She cradled her hand as though it had already broken into two and was held only by the skin outside. Though, that was far from reality. Drusilla had only stepped hard enough for it to bruise, nothing more. Yet, Hazelle knew that anything related to broken hands and injured wrists had become a trigger point for Alistair ever since he had lost his own.
Drusilla had dug her own grave and Hazelle was more than happy to bury her in it.
"Yes," Hazelle sobbed out. She winced, pretending to be in huge pain. "She said… She said…" Hazelle choked on her words. "If I lost a hand, I would just be like…"
Rather than finish her sentence, she glanced quickly at Alistair's missing hand before sharply looking away. Her actions were so obvious that he couldn't have missed it.
Alistair's blood boiled.
