For a long, suffocating moment, the matriarch just looked down at her. There was no pity in the old woman's eyes. There was only the cold, detached disgust of a wealthy woman looking at a stain on her expensive rug.
"Look at you," the matriarch finally spoke. Her voice was no longer a warm purr, but a freezing, aristocratic hiss. "Sprawled out on the floor like a common street beggar. Have you absolutely no dignity?"
The third wife couldn't speak. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth, and every tiny movement sent blinding white pain shooting through her spine. She could only let out a ragged, choked gasp.
"Silence," the matriarch commanded softly. The word carried a terrifying, absolute authority.
The old woman slowly crouched down, her joints popping slightly. She reached out with a hand weighed down by massive gold and jade rings, and violently grabbed the girl by the jaw, forcing her head up.
