Tempest In A Teacup

The chatter coming from the drawing room piqued Claire’s interest. She crept down the stairs to listen outside the door and heard her uncle Fred’s signature exasperated sigh, which she knew went along with an eye roll.

“Its not FAIR,” whined Abigail, Claire’s younger sister. “Claire gets a blue riding habit but blue matches MY complexion best!”

Oh no. Not this again. Abigail could get bored in the afternoons and her favorite hobby seemed to be stirring up the biggest fuss she could.

Miss Margaret the maid always took the bait and was fumbling with the tea tray muttering about how Abigail already had more than enough habits made up by the seamstress.

Just as Claire was turning to retreat back up the stairs to avoid an altercation, the drawing room door slammed open and she heard Abigail roar in anger. “YOU!” She screamed, as a full teacup whizzed past Claire’s head and crashed into the wall, brown liquid running down onto the carpet.

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