"Mrs. Fiona Snark," I said, not looking up from the paper. "Miss, it's just Miss." Her sickly lemon voice sounded. I looked up, "Oh, can't imagine why." She gave a discourteous nod and breath and walked by, the length of her cape not so accidentally.
She struggled to breathe, struggle to move as she trembled, spine arching, head tilting, and her vein-covered lips parted, as if draining the energy from the room. The thing which snapped her from this state were knocks on the bathroom door and a voi