Inori coughed. It was a rough, deep sound, the kind that comes when a throat has been dry for far too long.
Her head hung forward, black hair falling over her face, and her hands and feet remained tied to the chair with a firmness that left no room to move, even if she had had the energy to try.
She was wearing a white shirt. Not hers. Seraphine stepped closer with a glass of water and brought it to her lips without saying a word. Inori drank.
It wasn't a sip. It was desperation. She drank as if hours had passed since anything liquid had last touched her throat.
Leaning forward as much as the restraints allowed, with her eyes closed and her breathing quick between each swallow. When the glass was empty, she let the air out slowly and stayed still for a moment, her head still lowered.
Then she pulled herself together.
