The exasperated hiss from the boiling kettle earned it a rough dislodgement from its charged, plastic perch. Boiling water sloshed over the edges of the coffee pot, causing its brewer to jump back from the counter, rescuing the paper perpetrator from its precarious position beside the rapidly growing puddle which swiftly began to drip onto the floor, where it began its audacious trip towards bare feet on the tiled floor.
Charlotte glared at the offending letter, now slightly wet at the corner, and threw it on the table to finish pouring her coffee. She had known before even opening the letter who it would be from. Of course, the handwriting had been a giveaway, but regardless, it wasn’t quite what she had been expecting.
She swallowed the coffee quickly, though it was still too hot, desperate for a caffeine rush which she imagined would come accompanied by enlightenment. More fool her. She couldn’t understand what he meant by the... unusual letter. He made her out to be some sort of... demon woman...
She huffed, “Fangs!? Food!? Poison!?” A shiver of irritation chilled her as she wrinkled her nose in disdain for the endearment so clearly used not casually, but very deliberately. A brief moment of self-conscious consideration passed for the “rapacious” reference, leading her to turn sideways, looking at her figure in the oracular shine of the glass door. She dismissed it. There was no way that was what the letter intended. It wasn’t sent for a cheap jibe. No. There was something more. Something she was missing.