With a soft groan, she relaxed her aching muscles and allowed her body to slide down the side of the bed. She landed on her hands and knees, her braid falling to the floor as she bent her head in sorrow She listened to the silence of the room, the silence of the dark night outside her window. It was a blessed relief, that silence. It seemed to fill the room like a living presence, washing away Simon’s words, his panting breath, the slap of his flesh against hers. She thought about just rolling over onto her side on the floor and curling up into a ball. She wondered if she could sleep if she did that. She was so tired, so tired of fighting. Always fighting. Fighting to live her life as she chose, fighting to hold on to the happy memories of her childhood, fighting to claim what was rightfully hers, fighting to find her place in the world. Gingerly Beatrice rose to her feet, using the bed for support. Her thighs hurt, her calves burned, her toes ached. She reached one hand down between her legs, winced at the tenderness she found there.
