Just as she was finishing chopping the tomatoes into submission, a bucket was plunked down on the counter beside her. Snow had been entirely inside her head, trying to determine why she was so upset by Redease's brusque manner, so the sudden noise surprised her. So much in fact, that the well sharpened knife she was using slipped, and she cut herself.
"Oh!" She dropped the knife instinctively onto the cutting board and grabbed her injured hand. The cut was not particularly deep or large, but it was disconcerting to see her blood welling up.
Without even turning around, Redease said, "tomatoes in bowl. Then the onions." Snow looked up, and saw that on top of the bucket he had plunked down was a moderately sized bowl, and that underneath it were several large white onions – once again larger than any she had seen. She turned around angrily – he had just made her cut herself! – but he had already gone back to ignoring her, standing as far away from her as possible while still being in the kitchen and focused intently on his cutting board.
Snow's temper flared. "If you think I can't tell where I am not wanted you are either terribly misinformed or willfully ignorant. You chop the vegetables – I'll leave your precious kitchen in peace."
With that, she turned and stomped out of the kitchen, still holding her cut hand.
The door slammed shut behind her and she steamed all the way down the hall, feeling angry and confused. And hurt. She wasn't sure why she felt hurt, someone not wanting her present wasn't exactly news, and so she focused on angry and confused. After all, what had she ever done to him?
After fuming down one hallway, through a room with musical instruments, around a corner and past a set of stairs down, it occurred to her that she had never been in this part of the house before. She eyed the stairs down curiously. Where did they go?
It would not be a good idea to make her hosts angry. Logically she knew that. However, she was a guest. She had never been told that anyplace was off-limits. And she was still a bit angry. She turned and walked down the stairs, though more calmly.
At the bottom of the steps she turned a corner and saw a door. A thick, heavy door. With iron reinforcements. And bars. And a lock. On the outside. She paused. The key ring was hanging on the wall directly at the bottom of the stairs, out of sight of the door. The only light was coming from up the stairs behind her.
She realized that she should not be here, she knew she should not go any further, despite having never been told not to come here. She knew she should leave. But she was so, so curious. What on earth would a group of fae keep in a locked basement? She stood there, torn for a long moment, but she remembered the cut on her hand, and that was the tipping point.
She stuck the cut in her mouth to keep it from dripping, and walked thoughtfully back up the stairs. Though she deliberately wandered away, her thoughts were still on the door. She decided that perhaps later, she just might come back.