Pointing Fingers I

"My fault?" Hazelle took a wary step back, but there was a slightly condescending look on her face as she looked at Drusilla. "Are you daft?"

Gone was the princess that was the very picture of perfect sweetness and delight; Drusilla now looked nothing better than an ordinary woman from the streets, albeit clad in a fancier gown. 

Hazelle's lips curled as she eyed Drusilla's hair, haphazardly tied into an untidy bun. Her servants clearly didn't bother with making her presentable. After all, it wasn't like she was allowed to meet anyone. 

And those people who wanted to meet her wouldn't be looking at her hair. 

"Of course it's your fault!" Drusilla demanded hotly, raising a hand encased in flame. Her eyes were bright with indignation. "This was your scheme to begin with! I never should have trusted you!"