*Odette*
I can't recall how to cook creamed eggs, yet I'm expected to know how to prepare pheasant? Dear Goddess, I don't even know how to heat the stove properly.
Nibbling on the dry toast, I yearn for more butter. Where can I find it? In the icebox, I suppose. Sliding off the uncomfortable wooden chair, I wonder if there exists a more agonizing piece of furniture in the known world. I can't be expected to endure it for every meal. It requires pillows. I need pillows. Softness and comfort. Why should anyone settle for less?
Wandering over to the wooden box, I release the latch, open the door, and let out a screech.
The bird stares at me, accusingly.
Slamming the door shut, I step back, my breathing becoming harsh and shallow. I know it's dead, but its eyes and whole head remain intac
