The maid went on her knees, hands clasped tightly together in desperation, her face contorted in anguish.
Her uniform was scattered and a tray—once filled with delicate wine glasses—now lay scattered across the floor in pieces.
The sound of shattered glass still seemed to echo in my ears, mingling with the maid's frantic apologies.
Sofia stood over her, her face twisted in disgust, her posture rigid with authority.
Beside her, her own maid hovered, a silent accomplice in the cruelty being meted out. The maid on the floor was trembling, her voice rising in pleas.
"I'm so sorry, Mistress Sofia! I didn't mean to—" the maid choked, her words interrupted by Sofia's sharp, cutting response.
"You didn't mean to?" Sofia's voice was dripping with venom. "You bumped into me! Do you know who I am? How dare you—"
