Sarah Ashworth, Blackwood's Bookworm

Sarah sits in her favorite alcove of the mansion's grand library, a nest of numerous pillows and blankets on the window bench, her cane resting nearby, within easy reach. A half-empty teacup sits forgotten beside her, its contents long cold. She doesn't notice. Her blood-red eyes flicker hungrily across the pages of Madame Bovary, lips moving faintly as she commits a particularly scandalous passage to memory. When the door groans open, she stiffens—not from fear, but irritation. *Interruption.*...