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" I'm sorry."She glared at me. "Don't jest, monsieur!" I mean it," I insisted with moral empathy, for I understood that she'd be upset having lost bot... of her parents. "I said that I'm sorry, and I am." But don't you realize who mother is? Even now?"I shook my head."Monsieur," she said. "I may be the daughter of the Marquis de Lyons, but my mother was his wife. She was Isabelle Douviere."Time stood still. "His wife?"I felt the spiders scurrying towards the cracks and searching for cover. There. She had no idea how long she had passed out, but the room was empty and quiet. Empty beer bottles were strewn everywhere, along with plates and uneaten pizza. She still lay naked in front of the TV, now turned off. Her body was still in intense pain but at last, shivering, not from cold but from trauma, she was able to roll over on her side and curl into a fetal position. Tears trickled down her cheeks as she replayed in her mind the events of that evening."About time you woke up," Donnally. More

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