The Countess’s back was no longer so sore that she couldn’t sit up. So she propped herself against a fluffy pillow as she glared at the wooden bowl of gruel in her hand. She was in her purple nightgown, recuperating from the brutal chastising Mephistopheles had meted out on her. “Hilde,” she muttered, her other hand clutching a silver spoon. She glared at the martial woman by her bedside, whose serious expression looked somewhat hopeful. “This hot soup you’ve made for me is disgusting. I don’t even know what ingredients you put in to get this… porridge-like texture,” chastised Viola.
The supreme commander of the Countess’s private army actually looked crestfallen, a strand of her blond hair draping down her smooth face. “I used potatoes and leeks, just like in the recipe. It’s very nutritious, and perfect for regaining your strength, my Lady.”
Continue reading “The Four Ladies of Arendelle, Part One”