Evangeline dragged the heavy velvet of her ruined gown through the tangled undergrowth, her inner fury mounting with every agonizing step. The forest was suffocatingly dense. To her right, Rudbeka glided like a detached phantom, her quiet, mocking hums cutting through the gloom, while to her left, Chester moved like a tense, brooding shadow.
She kept her gaze fixed on the twisting roots ahead, muttering under her breath, "I feel as though I am marching toward my own execution with this wretched pair. My dress is an absolute disaster... If Silver were here, he would have found a way to make this miserable journey at least somewhat tolerable."
She paused, drawing a sharp, ragged breath as the lingering weakness from her morning fever flared in her chest. "How much longer, Chester? When will we reach her cabin?"
"Soon, Your Majesty," Chester replied, his voice entirely flat, missing its signature theatrical distortion.
