It was late and the wind was howling, but Yves had asked her for a favor and Mary wasn't one to skip out. Although she was still weak from that fever, she couldn't stand being idle no more. She had her cloak on and was just in the hall when someone knocked at the door. Mary cursed and dropped the garment on the sidetable. Bloody hell.
With a sigh and a polite expression, Mary opened the door. It took her a moment to recognize the face and damp curls in front of her. Mum was like that- you always forgot just how pretty she was until she walked into the room again. Eight years and she just looked... the same, like the same beautiful, wicked queen she always was. The moment of shock passed and was almost immediately replaced with a desire to slam the door, run to her room and stay there. Runrunrunrunrun the sensible side of her whispered. Run and for god's sake don't look back.
"Mum," she heard herself say far more calmly than she felt. Why wasn't she running? Too late, the witch-green eyes held her. "What are you doin'?"