Grand
dame of the hall. Advanced in her years yet life still brimming as if
her cup would never empty. If she was hot sauce, she would leave a kick
that would last for days. Years of experience ripened her, allowing her
flavor to develop its powerful punch.
Sometimes rays of sun bounce ever so lightly across the floor. She
was more like burning flames that scorched, illuminating the darkness of
the snake pit. Some creatures don’t like light. They prefer to cower in
the shadows.
She came from money. Her husband had a more simple upbringing. She
was the force that drove him to the distinguished man he is today. The
others didn’t like that.
The others hated light. The food they ate was bland. They chose to
stick to the same rigid routine even though their methods were out dated
and unnecessarily tedious. They hated change and despised anyone who
didn’t fit the mold.
Snakes have tongues that dart in and out. Mothers like to talk and
assassins throw daggers. Razor sharp tongues soar in search of a place
to land. A moving target may sometimes be hard to hit and the back can
often be the most accessible area.
Flipping her hair before pulling out her seat, Grand dame of the hall
settles herself in the middle. Pulling out a stack of papers,
straightening them with loud firm taps; she is in the middle of the
snake pit now. One would think she would be immune to snake venom.
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