These Hands That Weep

"Where is she!?" pierced the air like a rapier, seeking a victim to slice. Penelope didn't so much as move a muscle, interrupting the therapeutic rhythm of polishing the draw of precious silver cutlery in front of her. She could already feel the pressing force of wrath that was swirling toward her, not remotely thinking she was to be saved from Mistress Dubois this time. Her supposed penalty? Having the rotten luck to have the found the eyes of Master Dubois follow her hungrily. The Mistress took her toxic mood out on Penelope at every turn, Château de la mort was no longer her haven.