Magenta awoke several hours later and looked into Riff's eyes.
"My most beautiful sister," said Riff, "Tell me what is wrong."
Magenta smiled, her eyes shining as she said, "You needn't worry about me. Everything is fine."
"Well at least eat something," insisted Riff, "You look as frail as mother did before she died." With that Riff hurried to the kitchen where he prepared Magenta's favorite meal. He rushed back upstairs to the bedroom. "Here Magenta," he said as he laid the tray on the bed next to her. Magenta was not one to pass up food; she graciously dove in. Riff stood back and laughed to himself as he watched his sister make a pig of herself. The thought of his sister not being well lingered in the back of his mind. Why was she so frail and weak, and why was her skin so pale.
Within minutes after finishing her meal, Magenta was once again in dreamland. Riff busied himself with cleaning the guestroom and the hall right outside the bedroom where Magenta slept, wanting not to stray away from his lovely sister. As soon as his work was finished, Riff was in the bed next to Magenta. He knew there was something wrong, but Magenta was stubborn and it would take more than just asking to get it out of her.
As Riff was deep in thought, Frank marched into the room.
"She is not well Master," said Riff looking at his sister, "She is too weak. Perhaps she should rest for awhile."
Frank glanced down at the pale figure lying in the bed and grimaced. "Very well," he said, "But you do know that there will be much more work for you."
"Yes Master," replied Riff as he ran a finger through Magenta's hair.
Frank began to walk out of the room, but stopped at the door and turned back to look at Riff. "Be up and working by two a.m." And with that he left. Riff took one of Magenta's hands into his, and brushed a single strand of hair from her face,
"Oh, my beautiful sister..."