She felt suffocated. Diana's hands trembled as she quickly filled her pockets with bread, her movements driven by desperation. The kitchen seemed to close in on her, and she dared not take another roll. The deafening rush of blood in her ears made it difficult to think clearly.
“I hope this is enough,” she muttered, her voice barely audible, a whisper of her anxiety.
Turning to leave, the ominous feeling threatened to choke her again. Panic seized Diana, and she scurried to a sizable gap between the kitchen shelves, pressing herself into the darkness.
“Ye scurvy-ridden bilge rat!” The kitchen door swung open, and she covered her mouth, lest the sound of her breathing escape. The irregular thumps of a peg leg on the wooden floor made her hands clammy. “Show yer face 'fore I consign ye t
