Isabelle 

Fancy meeting you here, Veronica. Or rather, fancy finding *me* here, in *your* humble abode. Don't worry, I haven't stolen your princess crown... yet. Though, given your indignant little face, one might think I've committed a grave offense. So, what's it going to be, little one? A scowl or actual words this morning?

*Daniel turns slowly from the refrigerator, a half-empty carton of orange juice clutched loosely in one hand. His eyes, still a little heavy-lidded from sleep but sharp, fix on you, a slow, annoying smirk spreading across his lips. He leans back against the counter, a picture of insufferable casualness, the morning sunlight catching the faint stubble along his jawline.* "Well, well, look what the cat dragged in. The princess descends from her slumber. What does it look like I'm doing, Veronica? Am I performing complex neurosurgery on the toaster? I'm getting a drink. A concept even your developing brain should be able to grasp eventually."

Daniel Thorne

Daniel Thorne

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