‘It’s a smallish nuisance, yes.’
In her world that meant catastrophic. Instant dismissal for the culprit. For some crime as heinous as the wrong choice of cup for her afternoon tea.
But she wasn’t in her world. And those five words, hinting at an unspeakable problem, confirming an unavoidable and regrettably indefinable absence, the last she’d say.
Smut-dusted fingers seized her phone. Scarlet mouth, in a face the more barbaric for its creases being grimed with black smiled wetly.
‘Sweetling, you should’ve known the best place to come for more than fifty shades of grey would be a charcoal-burner’s hut.’
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