The problem of a bad mood when you have superpowers is the tendency for things to go very wrong, very quickly.

And Nigella wasn't even a bad person. In fact, she counted herself among the few decent souls in the city. Except for a small number - not even enough to be called a handful - of days when she woke up on the wrong side of the bed.

Like today, for instance.

It was the noise that woke her. The incessant pounding of the drill that burrowed deep in her skull and bang, bang, banged against her brain. Like one of those cymbal crashing monkeys.

Gritting her teeth, Nigella buried herself under her duvet, sure the drilling would stop soon.

Surely?

But it didn't. On and on it droned in its repetitive drawl, like that elderly relative you tried your hardest to avoid at family gatherings, until Nigella felt the last straw of her self-control snap.

She threw back her bedcovers and leapt towards the window, muscles already tensing in her shoulders, hands already clenched into fists. Power overflowed from her lithe frame at such a pace that both panes of glass shattered.

A growl built deep in Nigella's throat at the sight of the mess - a mess that she'd have to tidy up! - and she forced her rapidly bulking body out onto the fire escape before she grew too big and broke the wall.

The iron supports groaned under her increasing weight, the banister buckling where she gripped it. But the only thing bouncing through her brain - besides the shrieking drill - was making the damn thing stop.

She threw herself from the third floor, landing on the pavement where concrete crumbled beneath her bare feet, and stormed towards the set of roadworks, very helpfully signposted with neon-orange cones.

'Quit it!' Nigella barked at the nearest huddle of workers, who yelped and ducked for cover. It was hardly a surprise, her power had rendered her a hulking red - was monster too crude a word? - towering eight-feet tall.

'Y-yes,' the nearest man stuttered, his moustache wobbling with fear, 'sorry. We'll stop.'

Nigella smiled, revealing two rows of sharp teeth. 'There, that wasn't so hard, was it?'

'N-no,' the man replied, clutching his yellow hard hat in shaking hands. 'S-sorry, again.'

With a satisfied nod, Nigella turned homeward, her body already shrinking. At this rate - she'd be able to use the stairs without snapping them!

But it wasn't until she'd cocooned herself in the comfy confines of her bedcovers that she realised she wouldn't be able to get back to sleep after all.

Because she'd broken her window, hadn't she?