Elena's expression broke.
Not entirely. A crack. The something-structural-has-given crack of a face that has been holding a temperature and has just lost the ability to maintain it.
Her mother had said 'too good.'
Her mother, the Mistress of Hartfield County, was on the floor of her own bedroom with her legs spread by a man Elena had loved, had arranged, had set in motion, and had said 'too good' in a voice that had no performance in it, her body betraying her completely.
Sofia felt Elena stop fighting.
The arms beneath her went from straining to still — the comprehensive, nothing-left stillness of a woman who has run out of the resource that fighting requires.
Sofia didn't let go.
But she loosened.
Her face, buried in Elena's neck.
Her horns pressing against Elena's jaw.
Her eyes on the mirror.
