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She sat in her grand sweet-smelling parlour, a fine porcelain teacup in hand. Her eyes would occasionally trail off into the street before going back to the coffee table where steam left another cup.
Her lips snickered catching a woman in a businessman's coat, a ridiculous shade of blood. Two men followed her, one at each side. Pathetic.
She entered the parlour on her own, escorted by one of her girls. Heleen cocked a brow at the sharp cheeked girl whose face was decorated by a bruise. "You the girl?" she spoke, blowing the steam from her tea.
"And you must be the famous Tante Heleen. What a pleasure," the fiery-haired girl spoke.
She expected a Kaelish accent, the thick roughness in her words, but instead, she sounded like everybody else. She'd mistake her for a local if it wasn't for the ridiculous vibrant shade of her hair and the sickly white colour of her skin.
"You look taller than I expected," she commented, taking in her features as she took a loud sip of her tea. "Do take a seat."
The girl had given her a nod but was still cautious sitting down on her white armchair covered in a pattern of soft pink feathers. Perhaps everything was too light for her liking. She knew the darkness these mice lived in. She at least wasn't dirty looking like the rest. Hopefully, she wouldn't ruin her furniture.
"Have a sip. It's for you." She nodded towards the cup on the table. "I won't poison you. Not when there are two bulky men looking after your back."
"Not exactly bulky, but I'll give it my shot." She took the cup in her hand, Heleen's eyes falling to her fingers.
Such thin things. She studied how reddened her knuckles were. They must have killed so many. Too bad I can't have use of them.
