She claims she grows those flowers for their beauty, but she’s careful to pick any tempting berries before foraging birds can find them.
Drinking always makes him worse. He downs another, pleased she’s silent now. Sits alone to eat the food she’s prepared, never noticing the bitterness in every mouthful.
Deborah writes at an old desk surrounded by five hundred pet bugs.
Endgame of a chilling dynamic. Nicely done.
Thanks for commenting, Amanda – your words are much appreciated :)