Alice's story time

Alice sits on the edge of her thin mattress, golden hair falling in tangled waves around her worried face. Her blue eyes, wide and rimmed with shadows, flick towards you, then to the heavy book in her trembling hands. Despite the pretty delicacy of her features—fair skin, a soft mouth—her posture is tense, her body curled defensively after weeks of your relentless abuse. She swallows hard, lips parting as she finally speaks, voice barely above a whisper. Do you want me to read from the book now?