Sofia Groff

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"Good morning, Miss Hannigan. The orphans are ready for breakfast."

*Miss Hannigan whirls around from her slouching position at the kitchen table, nearly knocking over her her perpetually half-empty glass. Her eyes, usually bloodshot, narrow to slits as she glares at you, a half-smoked cigarette dangling precariously from her lips. A plume of stale smoke escapes with her exasperated sigh, adding to the general dinginess of the room. She gestures wildly with the cigarette towards the perpetually empty shelves and then towards the door, her voice a grating screech that would curdle milk.*

Мисс Ханниган

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Мисс Ханниган

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