it's been two months. (or: 1 month, 29 days so technically not two full months? i guess you could say that so it won't sound that bad?) i'm sorry. i have no excuses. other than upload (great series), falsettos (great musical), 9 to 5 (great musical), wisdom teeth (uuugh), christmas (yeeeyyy) and the unbelievable amount of fricking talented writers out there. but here i am now with chapter 8.
leave a review if you feel up to it.

The World Keeps Spinning On And On

By IceK04

8

Control

He wrote the way he spoke, and perhaps that was the painful thing about it. Because she could hear his voice in her head, but she couldn't hear him. She couldn't hear the way his voice rose and fell with emotion, couldn't see his eyes sparkle in barely contained excitement as he spoke of Glinda -how his furrowed brow carved deep lines of concern into his forehead as he told of her despair.

It was all in her head, nothing more than a pathetic attempt to paint his features on the canvas of her mind. (She'd always been a bad painter.)

And maybe that was the reason she felt so ready to tear her hair out, to scream until she couldn't scream anymore, to rage until she'd used enough fury to carry her through a thousand lifetimes rather than the single one she'd been gifted. (cursed with.) Because there was no one to talk to, no one to tear with, scream with, rage with. She was on her own with all her anger and all her endless -endless- despair.

Green fingers clenched almost painfully in bundles of black tresses, yanked downwards without aim, without control, but with the sole purpose of being painful -so that it would drown out the pain in her heart. If such was even possible.

If this was, however unrealistically, the sole manifestation of an existence of a soul somewhere in this crooked, abnormal body of hers, then, Elphaba thought -Elphaba screamed- she didn't want it. Because this- this hurt so much. This hurt more than leaving Shiz, her dream, her purpose, her future behind. This hurt more than learning of Doctor Dillamond's death. Why, Elphaba didn't know. Perhaps, she mused -when her mind allowed it- it's because she knows but cannot do a single thing about it. But then, she couldn't do anything about the doctor's death either. No power in the world could raise the dead -no power in the world could change the past. Not as radical as this demanded -not to such an extant.

As a sudden -though not surprising- wave of fury hit her, again, Elphaba jumped up from her seat, heels digging hard into the ground and the chair swaying dangerously as she whirled around. She staggered unsteadily, managing to knock a stack of papers off her desk as she tried to regain her footing.

She rarely (never) lost her composure. She did get passionate, yes, and she did get angry, naturally. But she never let either get the best of her. She always reigned herself in -or tried to, at least- and she tried to be reasonable, at all times. Screaming, raging, crying wasn't reasonable. It didn't bring much relief; it didn't bring solutions. What it did bring -and Elphaba had learned so the hard way- was disapproval and mocking. From her own family, nonetheless.

If you squinted -and Elphaba avoided such when she could- you might say it was yet another (unspoken) rule she (they) had inflicted on her. And perhaps this was the time to break rules. If only for once. Since she hadn't managed to do so before when she'd so desperately needed it.

Maybe -maybe- she screamed. Maybe she didn't. Maybe she yanked her fingers so brutally through her hair that she drew blood. Maybe she ripped the unopened letter of her sister apart that lied well hidden under a stack of books. Maybe she flung those books across the room. Maybe she felt tears burn in her eyes, and maybe she crouched down and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes and sat there, waiting for a sudden heart-attack to snatch her away. Maybe the door was flung open and Shell, little Shell, walked in, eyes wide with alarm, and stared at the path of destruction she'd left in her wake. And Elphaba raised her head from her palms and steered at him. "What is your problem?!"

Shell stumbled backwards, almost in shock, and she hissed (shouted) after him. "What, Shell?!"

Maybe steps sounded in the hallway but Elphaba almost didn't hear them over the sound of her own blood rushing through her head. She was still on the ground, hunched over as if in pain -as if too tired to straighten up.

"What is going on here?" Barked Melena, and perhaps her voice had the same snide to it as Elphaba's. "Elphaba!"

Maybe Elphaba rose to her feet then, taken by a new surge of anger (despair), and whirled around, arms slung tightly around herself. Maybe the words stumbling through her mind somehow found a way out in the open. "I can't- I can't do this. This is a fucking joke."

"What are you talking about?"

"Everything!" Raged Elphaba. "Talking about nonsense stuff like- like this" -she yanked a ridiculously white paper up in the air -a complaint of some farmer about the funds he found too small- and almost ripped it in half in her fury. "When people are dying! When professors get their necks sliced open-"

"Elphaba!" Interrupted Melena and firmly pushed a pale Shell toward the door. "Shell, go downstairs. Now."

Elphaba ignored her. "-in their own freaking labs on the grounds of high-praised universities! Because they were close to scientific breakthroughs that would've overthrown the entire system. When people get murdered! Every fucking day. And we're talking about harvest yields! We were so close -so close! And then Frex just had to go off and die-"

"Elphaba, that's enough."

"-and you! You are just as useless as the rest of them! You just sit by and let this all go past you as if it didn't concern you -as if this weren't your home and your family and your future. You don't give a single fuck about anything-"

"Elphaba, enough!"

"And we- I'm the one that suffers because of it! And no one understands. No one even cares. It's all a big freaking joke to everyone. It's not them who suffer so why bother caring?! That's how this shitshow of a system works!"

"Elphaba!"

"No one cares. No one! Not you, not Nanny, not anyone. And Morrible goes off and kills the one that could've saved us all -a revolutionist! – and no one bats an eyelash. And she's a bitch! She's a fucking bitch and everyone kno-"

SLAP.

The sound of skin slamming against skin resounded so loudly in the room that Elphaba might as well have shouted it.

Maybe Melena backed away just as fast as she'd approached, the hand that had met Elphaba's cheek seconds ago now fisting the fabric of her skirt as if she didn't know what to do with it. Her eyes glimmered almost dangerously. "I said enough."

Elphaba stood, straight as a post, eyes wide and chest heaving, and gaped -in disbelief, anger, disappointment.

"Well," she said when she could, voice heavy with tears she wouldn't -couldn't- cry. "I didn't know you had it in you."

Maybe something flared up in Melena's eyes. "Oh, you don't know half of it."

And Elphaba, feeling bold and hurt and humiliated, straightened even more, and said, cynically, "I never believed that heart-attack story anyway. And I guess it's not that far-fetched to say it might have been a well-placed shove down the stairs instead."

If Melena could play hurtful, then Elphaba could very well play hateful. It was her right to.

"You are horrible."

"Oh," said Elphaba with a wave of green fingers to distract from the hurt painted on the sharp features of her face. "I've heard much worse."

"I have no doubts about that," answered Melena coolly, turning away.

And maybe -maybe- Elphaba, for the first time, snapped.

"Why do you hate me so much?" she asked, and it really was chilling to hear her own voice sound so full of hurt -despair- by all sudden.

Melena seemed dumbfounded, there, mouth slightly agape as she stared at her daughter.

The moment passed -along with some others- and she leaned back, swallowing hard, wetting her lips to prepare for an answer.

Before she could say a single thing to lift this crushing heaviness off Elphaba's heart, though, there was a sharp knock on the door to the office and seconds later, a maid entered, red in the face from shame perhaps -or from running.

"Madame," she said to Melena -who straightened up immediately- and then turned to Elphaba. "Your Eminence, there's Master Backett at the door for your scheduled meeting and I was told by Master Pinfs to let you know now rather than…" she trailed off, blushing even more furiously now than she had before. "Well, I was asked to tell you."

Elphaba pressed her lips into a thin line, eying first the chaos in her office and then her mother to the side before straightening up.

"Tell the man I'll be down in a minute," she wanted to say, but maybe, before she could do so much as open her mouth, Melena beat her to it.

"You go, Fabala," the woman said quietly. "And I'll see to… all of this."

And maybe, Elphaba only reluctantly followed the maid out into the hallway, her eyes lingering on her mother's back as if she could read the answers to her piled-up questions there.

Maybe all this happened. And maybe it didn't. And Elphaba would never be sure because she woke up the next morning drenched in her own sweat and feeling ill-ish (if not sick) and couldn't tell dream from reality anymore.

And in the Thropp household, they had mastered the art of sweeping everything remotely uncomfortable under a rug even before they had known remotely uncomfortable to be a situation to find themselves in. And so Elphaba would never know what to make of the memories she wasn't sure were real.

Roughly two weeks later marked the start of winter break which Elphaba had successfully blocked out. Needless to say, that she was beyond surprised when the door to her office opened one cold Thursday evening and a maid entered to tell her of her sister and Nanny's arrival.

"The madame is requesting your presence down," said the maid quietly and looked down at her feet as if scared to look Elphaba in the eyes.

The madame was, of course, Melena, and Elphaba almost snorted out loud upon hearing the title. Nothing could've fit the woman worse.

Somehow, Melena had kept her high status in the household, and, to Elphaba, it seemed that she still held her position as the head of the family too, even though Elphaba was the Eminence now. But the maids still spoke of her as 'the madame' and delivered her messages to Elphaba as if she were the lackey and Melena the leader and not the other way around. And, for reasons Elphaba herself couldn't name, she headed those messages every time. She put her glasses down, round and dark and fragile, and fanned out her fingers over the smooth surface of the table, pushing herself to her feet -and swaying a bit too. Before she could restrain herself, a hand had already flown upwards to graze her temple and the maid, albeit reluctantly said, "Miss, are you alright?"

Elphaba's features hardened. "Of course, I am."

And she gathered fists of dark skirts in her hands and rushed past the poor, frightened girl, shoulders squared, and chin thrust forward as if preparing to run into a warzone. It was only when she reached the bottom landing of the stairs that Elphaba noticed how cold it had been up, and she wrapped the dark cloth of her jacket tighter around herself. Trunks in brown and beige leather stood underneath the stairs and Elphaba tried her best not to look at them too closely.

She knew what was coming -heartbreak and anger- and she wanted to delay those for as long as possible.

The voices sounding from the living room were happy, ecstatic ones, and Elphaba wished she'd never have to join them in there. But the madame had asked and so, the eminence was obeying.

Elphaba turned and paused, for a brief second at best, in the doorway, hidden behind the dark wood of the door, and entered only when she thought herself capable.

"…said she would tutor us-"

"Look who the cat dragged in," said Nanny and Nessa's lips clamped tightly together at the interruption. Nanny examined Elphaba closely, one eyebrow raised in a judging manner that only Nanny could convey so perfectly. Had Elphaba not known the old hag as well as she did, she might've thought her to be concerned -if only for a second.

But then, Nanny turned again to look at Nessa and, with her head tilted to one side, she said, "Go on, puppet. What did you want to say?"

Nessa pursed her lips and Elphaba was sure that, had she had the complete set of arms, she would've crossed them in front of her chest.

"It wasn't that important anyway," she said, nose turned up into the air, and it was clear to everyone in the room that she had found it to be very important indeed, at least to herself. "I feel a little down, the journey was exhausting, naturally."

She looked on, eyes grazing each and everyone in the room -Shell, Melena, Nanny (even Elphaba, although very briefly and very coolly)- and then said, as if just having made up her mind: "Tea. That's what I need now; a warm cup of tea and a calm minute to myself."

She turned her head to look at Nanny. "In my room, I mean."

"Nessa," started Nanny, sounding apprehensive. "Why not have tea in front of the fireplace? Where it's warmer."

But Nessa shook her head, swaying as the movement slapped against her unsteady legs. She was so vehement that Elphaba wondered what made her feel at such an unease in the presence of her… well, perhaps family was the wrong word here (and perhaps that was the problem).

"Calm and quiet, Nanny," Nessa said, not unkindly. "I don't think that'd be possible in this environment."

For a moment, Nanny seemed to be holding in a sigh. Then, she deflated. "Of course, puppet."

But no one moved. For seconds, the tension in the room rose to pressure on their shoulders. For seconds, everyone waited for something to happen. For seconds, Elphaba waited for her sister to finally say hello.

Nessa shifted, her back sinking against Nanny's finger, fanned out over her back. "Well, then."

And Elphaba, in a desperate attempt to get her sister's attention, -though she, of course, would never ever admit it- jumped into action, jerking forward. "I'll brew the tea."

"Thank you, Fabala," said Nanny (not Nessa) and Elphaba hurried away, out the door and down the hallway into the kitchen.

Somehow, the feeling of eyes trained on her neck, her back, made her shift in unease, but when she turned around, there was no one there -nothing but the door to the living room, left slightly ajar. Elphaba shook her head at herself. Perhaps she was getting crazy now -or turning into the old, embittered, and paranoid hag everyone had surely always expected her to become -and at barely 20 years of age no less. With a sigh that could've been both out of exasperation (Shiz, Nessa, Boq, Nanny, Shiz, Nessa, Madame Morrible, Shiz, Doctor Dillamond, Doctor Dillamond!) and snit (this damn headache wasn't giving her a rest -as if she didn't have anything else to bother with), she put the kettle on the stove and watched as pretty little, red flames danced upward the polished metal. So dangerous, yet so enchanting. Beautiful in its own way.

Elphaba narrowed her eyes and turned away. She usually prided herself with the ability to look past the exterior, to not give a twig about the outward -and why should she when there was an inward to care about instead- and yet she walked about, labelling what could easily have been ignored and left to just… be. Maybe it was in the human nature to always judge. People couldn't handle the unknown, they couldn't stand the undefined or let alone the undefinable. And maybe this was the one thing that tied her, the green absurdity, the freak, the abomination, to the people around her. That she was just as chained to those human needs and urges as the rest of them -that even she couldn't escape the need to label and define and judge.

Elphaba raised a hand to her temple, stroking at a dark strand of hair that had come loose of her bun, sitting in her neck. What was it with this headache in these most recent days? It had come without warning a good two weeks ago and hadn't cared to leave ever since. It was annoying to say the least.

The sharp whistle of the tea kettle made Elphaba jump and she struggled to reach for the kettle and pull it off the stove before the water could boil over since she'd been that deep in thought.

"Oz," she muttered under her breath, cursing herself for being this easily distracted.

Hadn't she wanted to serve her sister the tea in time -and perfected to a t- and the opportunity to talk to her right along with it? Now though, she seemed to be wasting time over her own, brainless musings.

Elphaba shook her head as she moved to place the tea pot and two teacups on a tray and made her way out into the hallway, pressing the edge of the tray against her ribs so it wouldn't slip. Still, her fingers were shaking ever so slightly while she walked -and the cups clattered quietly as if to back her steps with its small, sweet (piercing) melody.

"May I come in?" Elphaba called as she stood in front of her sister's room -to stand in for the knock she couldn't possibly have rapped against the door's wood with both hands holding tightly on to the tray.

There was no answer at first and Elphaba's frown increased heavily -until the door opened to reveal Nanny who peered at Elphaba as if she were contemplating having her for dinner.

"You're slumping."

Elphaba raised an eyebrow. "So, you can look through doors now?"

"Give this to me," said Nanny, completely ignoring her words as she stepped forward to take the tray out of Elphaba's hands.

For just a second, the old woman disappeared behind the door to put down the tray, then she straightened back up again. "I noticed it in the living room already. You slump, you hunch, you shake. You have this weird color about you-"

"Oh, very amusing, Nanny."

"-Hush!" Nanny interrupted sternly. Elphaba wouldn't have been surprised had the woman raised her finger to scold her. "You're entirely too thin -all skin and bones, really."

The old woman leaned closer. "To sum it up, Fabala; you look terrible. And this goes beyond your usual ways."

Sometimes Elphaba couldn't help but think that Nanny, in her… veracity and straight-forwardness was quite possibly worse -a hundred times worse- than any dumb gossip at Shiz could've been. Or maybe it only felt that way because Elphaba knew her that well. Somehow, she found it easier to take the insults of strangers in stride than those coming from the people she knew.

"You look like death warmed over."

"I missed you too," bit Elphaba, fingers clutching the folds of her skirt, now that she couldn't grasp at the tray anymore.

Nanny rolled her eyes. "Oh, don't be so difficult. Come closer a little and let me have a good look at you."

Her fingers bent and twisted to beckon Elphaba down and Elphaba, of course, headed the hag's instructions and bent lower. Although she did it with great reluctance. But she did in nonetheless because, in this household, one did not simply disobey Nanny's orders. If there even existed such a word as 'disobedience' in the Thropp mansion. At least when tied to the name and person of Cattery Spunge.

Nanny's fingers, wrinkled and bony and, somehow, at the same time incredibly soft, reached for Elphaba's cheeks, cupping them gently as she steered into the young woman's dark eyes. Her face twisted; her features hardened. "Just as I thought. You're burning up."

"No, I'm not," snapped Elphaba back, trying -and failing- to escape Nanny's grip. "I'm perfectly fine."

"Don't argue with me," Nanny shook her head. "I've nursed loads of children in my life -I know ill when I see it."

Elphaba's fingers twisted. "I am not ill."

"No, no, of course you aren't," the old woman waved a hand dismissively. "You're unwilling to admit defeat."

"Admit defeat?" Elphaba snorted. "Nanny, I-"

"The tea, Nanny."

Both Nanny and Elphaba winced terribly at the sudden sound of Nessa's voice. Nanny turned the slightest bit, brow furrowed.

"It's getting cold."

"Hush, ducky," came the response and—what a surprise was that! Usually, no one and nothing could deny Nessarose Thropp. Least of all Nanny.

And yet, she didn't bat another eyelash as she turned back to face Elphaba -who had grown beyond impatient to finally escape this conversation. But Nanny seemed keen on torturing her.

"Don't think I wouldn't notice it, Elphaba Thropp," a long finger poked into Elphaba's ribs. "I might be old but I'm neither senile nor dumb. And just because that useless woman is too loaded to even look after herself doesn't make us all that oblivious."

"But it seems it does make you hallucinational."

Finally, Elphaba managed to free herself from Nanny's grip with a forceful yank.

Nanny lunged after her -and surprisingly fast for one her age. "You are sick, Fabala."

Elphaba pressed her lips into a thin line. Her arms crossed in front of her chest. "You know, I've always been green."

But Nanny simply rolled her eyes at the comment and took Elphaba's arm in a vice-like grip, even tighter than the one before. She didn't even have time to protest -she was already being forced into the living room where Melena jumped on the couch upon the unexpected intrusion, the wine in her glass slapping dangerously against the rim.

"Oz, Nanny," she said when she'd recovered from the shock, one hand placed in the center of her chest to calm her heaving breaths. "Do you always have to scare me like that?"

"Sit here," ordered Nanny, not bothering to answer Melena, and pushed Elphaba into the armchair in front of the fireplace. "And don't move, understood?"

"What's going on?" asked Melena.

"She's sick, that's what's going on."

"I am not sick, Nanny, I-" Elphaba moved to stand up but almost immediately, there was Nanny by her side to hold her down again.

"Yes, you are. And I said, 'don't move'."

"I have work to do!" Elphaba protested, pushing against the hands on her shoulders.

"Nanny, leave her."

To say that Elphaba was surprised by her mother's sudden statement would've been the understatement of the year. Because Elphaba was… stunned. Into silence. Reduced wholly to the sole ability of gaping.

"What?" Nanny said, seemingly just as baffled as her.

"I said—leave her," Melena repeated slowly, almost as if talking to a (dumb) child. "She's an adult, Nanny, you can't boss her around and expect her to do what you're saying. She's old enough to take care of herself."

"Oh, really?" Nanny raised a mocking eyebrow. "Then explain this" -she yanked at Elphaba's spindly arm so hard that Elphaba almost toppled over- "to me. Clearly, she's not-"

"And I think Elphaba knows best what she feels like, so if she says she feels fine then she's probably feeling fine."

Melena held the old hag's glare for a second, then dropped her eyes to the remaining wine in her glass, swirling it lazily around. "So, leave her be."

Nanny stared. "You- you are unbelievable."

But still, she backed away -albeit unhappily- and, shaking her head in what Elphaba made out to be disbelief and anger, left the room. And Elphaba thought that perhaps no one ever disobeyed Nanny because they didn't want to face the wrath and disappointment that followed straight after. But no one argued with Melena because Melena, drunk and ridiculous and quite frankly out of her mind, saw no reason and argued emotions instead of facts -and no one could keep their cool in that sort of debate.

Words of thanks burned on the tip of Elphaba's tongue as she rose to her feet, but Melena turned her head away to refill her glass and Elphaba left without saying another word.

"With all due respect," said Master Backett and it was all too clear that he wasn't attributing her any respect at all. "I don't see how you could possibly be capable of judging these kinds of things with the little experience you have to show for yourself."

Elphaba's eyes narrowed. What he was probably trying to say was that he didn't think her capable—period. And Elphaba hated this kind of behavior, this kind of attitude directed at her because they thought her young and dumb and naïve (weird, freakish, pathetic) and altogether unfit for the position – and not only because of her sex (which would've been bad enough as it was) but because of her skin, too.

Elphaba's forehead creased. "And I don't see how you could possibly think yourself entitled enough to make such statements."

She leaned forward. "I'll say it once more and then never again, Master Backett: I have made my decision and neither that nor my opinion on the matter will change."

The man's face turned red with anger. "But Your Eminence, why can't you see reason? This-"

"I am seeing reason," she retorted coolly. "And I refuse your demand. Business with the Emerald Palace's merchants won't help anyone but yourself and, all that aside, I refuse to work closely together with people as corrupt as those."

"Corrupt?" Echoed Master Backett. "Your Eminence, you don't know what you're talking about."

"I've studied politics for over a year," snapped Elphaba before she could control herself.

"And you've earned no degree."

He didn't say this in the heat of the moment, the words didn't stumble out of his mouth the way hers had and there was no great hectic to them. He was completely in control of what he was saying, aware of the insult and hurt his words would bring.

Folded in her lap, Elphaba's fingers were shaking, no matter how hard she pressed them together. "Because my father died, and I had to become Eminent."
"No, you didn't, there were more options than one-"

"Please," chirped Master Pinfs from the other side of the table, clearly overwhelmed by the situation arising in front of him -and Elphaba wondered for a second how Frex had made him of all people his first advisor. "Let's not resort to such ways right now."

"This is a personal matter," Elphaba's voice rose over that of Master Pinfs.

"It concerns us all."

"I didn't know you were part of this family."

"The citizens of Nest Hardings have a right to know why things have changed the way they have."

"The citizens of Nest Hardings have a right to know what concerns them. This does not concern them."

"Yes, it does, it-"

"Please," Master Pinfs cut the other man off. "Let's get back to business now."

"We deserve answers!" Pressed Master Backett on and Elphaba leaned back, arms crossed in front of her chest to calm her racing heart.

"Well, you won't get them from me, so might as well stop inquiring me."

Master Backett seemed about to jump to his feet. "This is unacceptable."

"You are unacceptable."

"How about we table this conversation for another day?" Said Master Pinfs soothingly and before Master Backett could even open his mouth, Elphaba had already agreed.

She rose to open the nearby door, eyes fixed sternly on the man to her opposite. "Good day."

She watched him leave, reluctant and clearly incensed, and raised a hand to stroke a few strands of hair out of her forehead as if she could wipe away the bright spots that were making it hard for her to see.

When she turned, she almost bumped into Master Pinfs who seemed to be readying himself to leave.

"Thank you."

The man nodded. "There's nothing to thank me for."

Then, his brows knit. "Miss, are you alright? You are swaying."

"Am I?" Elphaba reached for a nearby chair but her fingers grasped at nothing but air. "How strange."

"You don't look too well."

"Do I ever?" she murmured but the words were muffled as she was raising both hands to draw tight circles on her temples. She raised her voice. "I do have a headache, but it's nothing out of the ordinary these days. Nothing to worry about."

"Miss, I don't mean to… meddle," Master Pinfs said almost carefully, folding his hands around the shawl he was usually wearing. "but you look very… sick. Perhaps someone should call for the doctor?"

"The doctor?" Elphaba's dry laugh could've been mistaken for a cough. "Ha, Master Pinfs. No doctor could help me -I'm a lost cause."

She heard him shift uncomfortably. "I wasn't talking about your skin condition."

"Me neither," Elphaba said. She pressed her fingers against her temples for a second and waited for the slight pinch to come.

"It's the anger, Master Pinfs," she said after a moment, feeling bold enough, suddenly, to tell him. "The constant anger and frustration."

"It might be a contributing issue but, Miss Thropp, I really think this goes beyond troubles like those."

He sounded almost worried. Almost.

Elphaba shook her head. "It's nothing, really."

But at the exact same moment, she somehow lost her footing and slipped sideways. Her head was spinning, and it really was a miracle that she managed to get a hold of the doorframe before she could fall.

"Oh, Lord," gasped Master Pinfs -and thus answered the question of what or who he believed in -a question that Elphaba had been planning on asking for quite some time now but had never found neither the right time nor the courage to- and was by her side in a matter of seconds.

His grip on her arms was strong as he -surprisingly gently- maneuvered her onto a chair.

"If your aversion to doctors is this bad" -how did he…? – "I will go and fetch your mother instead. I'll be right back."

As if Melena were any better than the damned doctor.

But Elphaba's calls ("Master Pinfs, I'm not- it's nothing. You don't have to-") were ignored and as she stared at the vacant threshold that she knew would be occupied in a matter of seconds by a person that would serve only to worsen her headache, she felt the little control she had over her life slip through her fingers -and she was too weak to even try to hold onto it.