Slice-Hazard

Mel cackled at her mirror reflection again, still in hysterics. Despite her attempts to provoke him, the man had left without another word, leaving the guard to escort her home. The overpowering scent of gunpowder still clung to her, even after numerous attempts at scrubbing it off. On the nightstand lay a delicate knife with a bizarre décor, wrapped in a thin silver cloth. A gaudy pink dress, borrowed from a house-mate, lay ruffled on the bed. Sobering, Mel walked to the porch, where a group of them had gathered, chatting. "You're up late," one scolded. "Miss Marie is having a fit down in the fields, ripping up stalks like mad. You sh