Baron Henry's bedchamber was quiet, the air thick with the scent of medicine and the heavy stillness of a long illness.
Augusta sat in the comfortable armchair beside his bed, a small plate of diced fruits resting on her lap. With a small silver fork, she gracefully stabbed a cube of sweet melon and had a bite, her movements unhurried and calm. She looked at the still, silent figure of her husband, lying comatose in the large, imposing bed.
"It has been days now since I have come to see you, Henry," she began, her voice a low, conversational murmur, as if she were simply catching him up on the local gossip. "It truly is a shame. You should have seen me, Henry. You should have seen how I was radiating power and authority on the chairman's seat at the company meeting. I do wish you had been there to see me in my moment of triumph."
She chuckled to herself, a soft, self-satisfied sound, and took another bite of fruit.
