over in the butler's kitchen, victoria was opening and closing the sugar jar, debating if she should add more to the sticky yellow dough in her favorite cracked green porcelain bowl.
the kettle squealed.
she swept her feet across the floor, kicking the onion skins under her humming refrigerator. it was five past five. she hoped the guests would be late, if not, they may eat undercooked biscuits. victoria plucked plump green grapes off the vine, holding them in her hands for a moment to feel the cold chill they stole from the fridge, then plopped them into a see-through glass dish with intricate flowers lining the edge.
the kettle squealed.
victoria's hand gripped the oven handle, pulling it towards her. she stuck her face inside to peak. her face melted in the intense heat, her ears dripping hot wax onto the door. two minutes more, and the brisket will be done.
the kettle squealed.
she opened her freezer and took the ice box out, pouring square cubes into her golden carafe, dazzling and dinging as they hit the bottom. she took the squealing kettle and poured it over the ice, and threw nine earl gray tea bags in. she usually throws five. the strings of the bags disintegrated in the hot water.
she walked to her front door, stood on her tiptoes and peered through the tiny window. she slowly unlocked the door.
omg this is so awesome! my favorite line is "to feel the cold chill they stole from the fridge" - I gasped when I read it. Love the descriptive language in this especially the constant back and forth between heat and cold!
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