Ms
Sermon tapped her fingers one right after the other. In quick rhythm
on the fine wooden desk, like a musical arpeggio. It was 11 P.M.
Lightning flashed through the shuttered windows of the Victorian
mansion. With thunder close behind. She downed a glass of scotch.
Then opened the desk drawer, pulling out a leather bound journal that
bore her name.
BRITTANIA
She
felt pretty this night. Prettier than she'd felt in a long while. She
rubbed her hand over the cover of the journal and began to remember
the events of this day fondly. There had been a girl that came to her
door...
*******
