The Hand That Held A Baby Can Hold A Dagger As Well

I, Shanalia Lavendar Wilmere, adopted daughter of Ambrose Fernando Wilmere, and Raina Calendula Wilmere, am officially untrainable. Or so Madam Octimber claims.

"She is reckless, restless, and rowdy, even after I worked my magic on her," and here it is, "she is officially untrainable."

My father's beetroot face comes into view, "please ma'am, it's just a stage she's going through, you can surely teach her some manners. You're the best in the province, our last chance." His meaty hands are clasped together, and as his face some how turns a darker shade of scarlet, I swear he's about to fall at Madam Octimbers feet blubbering.

The lady promptly flickes her nose into the air, and stares down it's rather elongated ridge at my father.

"Enough is enough, Ambrose. Your last chance is officially gone."

"Gone?"

In the one word alone I can hear the utter dispair, and hopelessness.

Madam Octimbers hands start to flie everywhere, a flurry of crimson nails. "Disappeared, diminished, what ever you want to call it, I'm gone!"

And with that she stomps out, leaving my poor father to lean heavily on his desk.

I have to quickly scamper away from the crack in the door as she comes storming out. Finally she's gone. You know, I never liked her, her name sounded like someone to decided to mix October, September, and Timber together. I mean, who would do such a thing to a word!