Wren fiddled and twitted from kitchen to dining room, to the mirror to check her hair, and makeup, making sure the apron she wore, tied too tight, gave the impression of matronly, but magnetic. The  long table covered in fine lined, and her best china and silver, she lit the candles, hand-made, and hurried to the kitchen, to pull the duck from the oven, and placed it, covered, on the counter, beside the minces, to cool.

Later, after the guests had left, bellies half as full as their smiles, Wren sat in the bathtub, smoking and waiting to bleed out.

Prompt courtesy of the Daily Post.

2 thoughts on “Extravagant

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