Chapter 70 – Daphne POV
This dress is heavy.
Not just physically—I mean spiritually, emotionally, and offensively heavy.
Layers of fabric. Embroidery. Stiff lace. A corset that's trying to assassinate me from the inside out.
Apparently, the Duchess has requested a tea party.
With all the concubines.
Great.
Because there's nothing like drinking lukewarm flower water with a bunch of women who probably wish I'd drowned in the stream.
I try to keep a neutral expression as the maid behind me tugs at the corset strings like she's trying to tie up a sack of potatoes.
I can't breathe.
I can't move.
I can't feel my ribs.
Perfect.
Sigh.
I'd rather be anywhere else.
Preferably up in the tower, painting.
Or bathing.
Or setting myself on fire.
'I swear, if you make me come to a medieval world again, I'm going to roast you,' I mentally threaten the system, deadpan.
[I'm too low-level to pick, but I'll try my best.]
'Do you prefer to be grilled or roasted?'
