DRAKENFELL — QUEEN'S CHAMBERS
Frail was not a word that had ever been associated with Bellatrix Drakenfell. The wet rag on Bellatrix's forehead was doing absolutely nothing for her head, but it was working overtime for the visual.
Dexmon entered the chambers, then froze.
Bellatrix opened her eyes slowly, groggily, blinking against the dim light.
"Dexmon? Is that you?" she called, as if she were emerging from a fog.
Who the fuck else would it be? She had sent for him. Specifically. Had she forgotten?
He shook his head once, coming out of the daze. "Yes, mother. It's me."
He closed the distance and took the chair next to her bedside.
She grabbed his hand.
