Well, it was a relief that only one of them was in danger of fainting on the spot. The more Adrienne looked at her wounds, the more her stomach turned, and she absently reached up to grip Olympe’s hand. Her maid squeezed her hand back just as tightly, and she glanced up to see the woman’s face just as pale if not more so than her own. Hearing the man’s suggestion brought her back to the situation and Adrienne inhaled sharply as she shifted her weight again. “That…that might be best,” She said, trying to see if she could at least flex her foot. Despite the skin’s appearance, it felt tight, as if pointing her toe would make the skin tear like a piece of parchment. Dear Merlin was she going to be disfigured for the rest of her life? (Later, she would give herself a thorough admonishment for thinking such a vapid thought when there were likely people dying out on the streets, but in the moment, she felt quite at a loss as to how else to react).

She reached down to try and brush the singed fabric out of the way. The already fragile tendrils of thread fell away like ash to reveal her torn stocking. Adrienne suppressed a sob of shock, clutching at Olympe again. Her modesty was hardly something to worry about but she nonetheless almost reached down to brush her skirts back over the wound. Catching herself, she gathered her stocking and raised it up to reveal more of the wound. “I’m not sure what else to do…” She muttered, her eyes skimming over her leg. The mention of if she was with her husband caused her lip to tremble. She would have liked it if Cash were here. “N-no, I was just with my maid running errands.” She paused momentarily, looking up at the man with watery eyes. “How did you know I was married?” In her panic she’d forgotten it was quite easy to tell given she had a wedding ring on. But he…did seem familiar… “Do…do I know you?”

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