“I have the RIGHT to be here,” she muttered angrily, taking a SWIPE with the cleaning rag. “No matter what that old hag says.” The shelf shook slightly and the ancient Persian bowl (mother of pearl INLAY, of course) rocked in response. “Oh no you don’t!” A quick but careful stabilizing of the bowl. She glanced over at the desk, where Lord Hardwick was sorting through estate papers. Sigh of relief. He seemed oblivious to the under parlour maid. Her hand shook slightly as she continued to dust. She could not risk allowing a CLAIM of carelessness against her. She did not want to be sent back to the farm where she would have to FLAIL in the fields, sunup to sundown, 7 days a week, threshing grain.

Georg’ann

Getting ready to shower, Siobhan began to RAISE her arms, lifting her PLAID shirt overhead, rather than unbuttoning it, she was distracted by a BLAIN under her left armpit. Lately she’d been noting the hard pea sized lump, wondering if it would erupt or subside. She pinched, pushed, poked, and squeezed it. The result was irritation and redness without any change in the bump. After a bit she gave up her prodding and entered the cascade of warm water.
Her mother used to CLAIM that a hot shower was one of life’s greatest pleasures. As she stood enjoying the sensation of her hands rubbing herbal scented foaming gel along the long stretches of her limbs and into the nooks and crannies, out of the corner of her eye she saw a GLAIK and wondered if there’d be a good storm. She liked the thought of pouring a bit from the FLASK and sitting by the wood stove, glancing up at her great grandfather’s FLAIL. Coming to the family cabin for a solo retreat had been a wise decision.

Heather