¬ Fashire
What a miserable morning.
The laboratory was bright with the embedded glow of the ceiling lamps. I had been seated in this chair for the better part of an hour.
I was not relaxed.
I was barely contained.
The door slid open and Hildegard slipped in. I flung the transparent blood bag at his head before he'd taken three steps.
He caught it without breaking stride. His dark fingers closed around the pouch, and he held it up to the light with a clinical detachment that made me want to hurl something else at him.
"You are wasting valuable produce," he murmured. "This was expensive."
"Did you make the purchase from your own coffers?" I hissed.
Hildegard sighed, and set his bag, and that of the blood, on the nearest worktable.
I looked away. The shelves along the far wall were lined with specimens preserved in amber glass. Things I had collected over centuries of study. None of them held my attention now.
