#queuetiful

The question, as loaded as a pair of unswerving steely eyes holding her at gunpoint and exposing her doubt, poses a real threat to Tiffany’s veneer of perfect composure. Valiantly, she returns the gaze, relying on her skills and the gritty determination to hide her little deceit.

Her lips cling to the glass again, imposing an ominous time out. With an effort, Tiffany’s scattered focus zooms in on the task; she quickly picks up on Beatrice’s nervousness and notices an impatient tap of her foot punctuated by rapid breaths, but these clues are not enough to build a clear-cut case. Can she trust her judgement tonight? Will the unmatched instinct of an excellent diagnostician she prides in help her now or bring her demise?  

„Well...” She muses while the final verdict regarding Doctor Solden’s true intentions is yet to be reached. „Are you a backstabbing whore?”

Beatrice lets out a hollow laugh, tossing her electric blonde curls to the side; her shoulders slump slightly as she adopts a shockingly defensive posture. A glimmer of genuine sincerity flashes in her eye, heart-rending and relaxing in tandem. The eerie pinch of familiarity suddenly nagging at Tiffany makes her mind churn. 

As though immediately aware of her unfiltered, alcohol-induced reaction, Miss Solden uncrosses her legs and smooths down her shirt with a nonchalant flip of her hair.