This sudden lunge startled the bar owner walking at the front, and he took a few steps back. Seeing the woman in pajamas on the ground with disheveled hair, he frowned.
Gradually, a nauseating stench began to permeate the air.
The food bowl that was just sent in at noon had been knocked over on the floor, and in the corner, there were traces of vomit and excrement. The white pajamas on Abigail Moore were stained with something, the hem tinged with a dark yellow hue, looking as if she hadn't bathed in days.
The entire originally tidy room was now emitting a foul smell, having been presumably tarnished by Abigail Moore.
Trenton Smith halted in his steps. Always a bit of a clean freak, he responded swiftly to this filthy scent, pulling Norris to the corner, his face showing a hint of displeasure.
"What's going on?"
Before he could speak, the bar owner spoke up.
"Didn't I tell you to take good care of her? What's with the smell like she hasn't bathed in centuries?"
