Mar 29, 2013
"Bloody Loon," Mary muttered to herself as she ran the feather of her quill over her chin and chewed her lip. She absolutely hated divination and she was sick to death of reading tea leaves and the fake prophecies. With her fuse even shorter lately she was very near bursting into tears of frustration as she sat curled up in a corner of one of the corridors, books spread around her precariously. Had anyone walked by they would have surely complained at her taking up all that space or possibly took a nice fall if they weren't looking down.
