Celeste stormed into her room, the door slamming shut behind her with a bang that shook the door frame. Her heels flew off her feet as she kicked them away.
"How dare that bitch!" She screamed, her voice cracking.
Her fists clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms. She stood in the center of the room, trembling with rage. The dungeon. The fucking dungeon. She had slept—slept on cold stone, surrounded by filthy, snarling miscreants.
She dragged her hand over her face; her clothes still smelled faintly of the mildew and rot that clung to the dungeon walls. She hadn't even looked in the mirror yet, and she didn't want to.
Celeste screamed frustratedly, storming toward the vanity table. This was the worst day—no, month of her life. She grabbed a bottle someone had left the night before, a gift from a hopeful admirer, or a bribing servant, she couldn't remember. Without thinking, she grabbed it by the neck and threw it across the room.
