Worry frames Dr Sanders's face as his eyes dart between me and the door.
A throbbing headache pulsates through my skull and my blood boils with rage as I continually huff in annoyance, picking at the side of my dress.
Earlier on, I'd walked out of the bathroom to two maids, one setting down a tray of dishes and the other, placing an outfit on the bed.
When I asked what was happening, they'd told me that I needed to be present downstairs after eating. It was a surprising shock. I tried to ask them what the occasion was about but they left even before I could finish my sentence.
Now I'm here, seated in a tight black dress and puffing my chest out because I can't breathe through it. My waist and the rest of my stomach organs are cinched and I can hardly draw in or let out a single breathe without feeling like flames are being lit on my butt.
"Do I really have to go? I'm not even who you say I am!" I exclaim and Sanders glances over at his shoulder.