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Nan’s eyes alight with fire and her hand rises into the air. For a brief moment, you think that she is about to hit you. But of course, she can’t. You’re no longer a child that can be disciplined by her nursemaid: you are the nearly grown daughter of The Seat. Nan has no right to lay a hand on you, and she knows it. Her hand slowly falls to her side, and her glare fizzles and cools into ice. “You’re an ungrateful child.” She says coldly. “I’m ashamed to have raised you.”
				
				What do you care for her opinions? She was the one being impertinent in the first place. Besides, there isn’t anything she can do to you. She scrapes a chair across your plush carpet and squats down behind you. Without so much as a by your leave, she rakes the comb through your hair with all the gentleness of a feral cat. You can feel the teeth digging into your scalp, and she tears straight through your tangles with a sadistic ferocity you haven’t been witness to in years. After the first few strokes it is clear that something is bothering Old Nan—something more serious than your disrespect. She’s being especially ruthless today; something must be wrong. Do you dare ask?

*[[1. Of course I do. It’s the only decent thing to do.]]
*[[2. No! The old bat would rip me to shreds.]]