He found her in the cold darkness of her room, lying on her bed as though sleeping. But the pallor of her cheek suggested more than repose. Jean went to her, lifted her shoulders, shook her. That was when he saw the garment tied around her chemise-- the corset. Blue rimmed her eyes and shadowed her fingertips: her breathing was shallow and uneven.
Hands shaking, Jean worked quickly, untying the whalebone contraption till Blanche fell loose and senselessly back on the bed. He touched her face, listened to her breath, till he was satsfied she would keep, for she would not wake to his voice or prodding.
He watched over her silently, till he heard her stepmother enter the house at the break of dawn, and slipped quickly through the window-- not before caressing her cool white cheek.
Sent from Amanda's Treo @-'-,--