Drusilla pushed just so with her thin fingers, and the woman's neck snapped with a satisfying crack. It sounded a bit like celery to her ears, and reminded her of how she'd eat it with honey in the spring with her sisters. All dead and gone now, Mummy included. How sad. How silly. Silly little girl with the specialness about her, speaking like somebody's mother.
"Miss Edith does need her tea." She looked at the doll peeking out of her pocket. "But us bad little girls like to spoil our appetite before tea with a few naughty sips." Dru's lips stretched wide to accomodate the big, mad smile that pursed like they were on the rim of a cup while she mimed a few dainty sips from the dead woman's neck. She even put her pinky up, extended crookedly from her hand like a spider leg.
When her charade was done, she threw the body into a huddle of fearful lookers-on. "How pretty am I?"