The Society

Alex lay back in her baroque chair. Its high back dwarfed her, and would have strain on her lower back if not for the cushion stolen from her other room. The sky blue fluff marked an eyesore against the black. Only the Paintings on the wall judged her. Their eyes, some undeservedly doleful others incessantly marauding, watched her from beyond their gleaming gilded frames. Alex bent her daring gaze around the ornament stacked walls. They bore down on her as if they might spring from their frames. Then they would dwarf her just the same. Separated by luxurious ornaments, the staunch images depicted everyone from the original herald of her families fame to her just recently added late-father. She paused at her dad's youthful inspection. She closed her eyes to hot tears and turned away. The ageless faces watched with their tired expressions. Her dad too.

She aimed her burning gaze at the first of her family. Irrational anger curled her lips, offended by the imagined offense of their expectations. Her chest beat rabidly; her hands had become fists. The portrait watched coldly. Wound arms pushed her from her seat and she stalked toward it with hate

A knock extinguished her. It left her gasping for cool air.

"Come in!" she called, and coughed from the rooms musk.

Matty stepped through the hardwood door balancing a tea-cup saucer and a shortbread cake. The hard china instruments rattled with her swan-like walk.