By then, it was evident that any and all attempts at controlling her trembling body were utterly fruitless as she shook like a little leaf.
And there it had finally come! The moment she'd been dreading since those words on that damned page had stared her back in the face.
"I was given the honor of severing Abel's head from the rest of his body myself, on the day of his execution,"
Stiff as a figure of ice, the quivering overwhelming her only threatened to shatter her into pieces.
But despite that, despite Silas' awareness of her state, he still pushed on, "The seventh of Yule 1412 was a day I'll never manage to forget if I tried to. The day nightwalkers suffered a devastating loss on the hands of your great grandfather,"
Gaze soldered onto Abel's armor; Arabella's heart sank further down her chest with no guarantee it would ever beat right again. Silas hadn't said the words, but he needn't utter them. The meaning was as clear as day.
