She looks the same.
Normally if this were a scene from a book, Bianca's face would look drawn and weary, as if she's been wading through guilt ever since she sold me out. She'd come on her knees begging for forgiveness or any sort of penance to recover from the overwhelming sorrow of giving away her only blood relative. And within her eyes, I would see the emotions and care she had buried deep down inside, sprung to life like buried treasure.
But I'm just a side character, where can such poetic justice occur for me? Not to mention, I've long given up on expecting such gratuities. So when I see the smug set in Bianca's gaze and the way her eyes light up more at the jewelry I gave her than seeing me for the first time in years, I am not surprised in the slightest.
I take one of Bianca's soot-stained hands into my own and smile back at her while hissing through my teeth.
"If I scream that you hurt me, you will be put to death," I inform my aunt calmly.
