ｓｔｅａｄｆａｓｔ．

  “HANDS OFF OF my NEWTS, please!” Uncharacteristically loud, Mirana’s sombre voice rose to a SHRIEK; bouncing off the rafters of the Queen’s study like a HARPY’S cry. Rarely did Mirana allow any undue noise to shatter the frigid silence her court kept; yet seeing a grubby hand pawing around her potion supplies - a hand, mind you, that certainly did not belong there! - had roused her temper. Arm extended, brandishing a wooden spoon as though it were a SWORD while left hand settled righteously upon her hip. “You are going to upset them, and they’ll be of no use to me after that.”

  “I TRUST YOU won’t mind doing this one little favour for me, Annabelle.” They were never simply little favours: always speaking, always appearing in front of courtiers and citizens that would not know the difference between the pair, allowing Mirana to slip behind the scenes and work as she pleased. “--I would like -- I need you -- to do a simple little speech; a trifle, really.” 

  “CLOSE UP YOUR head and your MOUTH: your thoughts and self are going to get loose!” Brightly, she laughed; a stark contrast to sombre, serious voice and gaze. “Then again, thoughts always escape your head no matter what you do.” 

  KNOWINGLY, MIRANA GRINNED at her younger sister; dainty fingers plucking a tart from polished tray to nibble at it delicately. While relations with dear Iracebeth had always been... Tense at the best of times, Promise had always been dear to the White Queen’s heart. “You haven’t written me in some time!” She admonished playfully, dark eyes glittering with MISCHIEF. “But perhaps the carriers flew away with it your letters... Better to fly than to be EATEN by something with claws and teeth, don’t you think?”

  DARK LIPS PURSED in thought, the motion almost lost in the dim light the last rays of the sun provided upon balcony. Night always brought REFLECTION with it: memories of chess games and battles lost long ago. And Mirana remembered Alice: up to her knees and inquisitive; a little girl who had willingly played for a CROWN aeons ago. How could she remember nothing of that fateful day? “--You’ve grown, Alice.” She murmured, gaze focused on the darkening horizon. “Not to blame the Upelkuchen, of course. Do you remember?”

  “ONE CAN NEVER find pickled bat’s wings these days. I’d go out and get them myself, but I could never bring myself to harm a living creature.” Never mind that in order to get her ingredients, harm would have to befall another anyway. The White Queen’s scope of vision rarely extended past her own nose: if she was not the one with BLOODY fingers, did it truly count against her? Still, she smiled BLANDLY at her guest, nimble hands skillfully grinding up what had once been a marvellous bat with mortar and pestle. “But I digress. Potions and elixirs always require interesting ingredients.”