It had taken a few weeks, but she had finally found the perfect place to write. Her office was where
work happened, not creativity, her flat had not been a place she wanted to be in quite some time, so it had taken her a bit to find a place where she didn’t feel overwhelmed by her surroundings. The public Atrium of the Ministry had it’s hustle and bustle with the fire places and ever moving flow of ministry workers, but tucked away in nooks of the grand entrance way were tables where people met for lunch, tea, coffee, and to rant about the supervisor that they wanted to splinch on their next work endeavor.
Therese had a particular table that had been good to her muse. She still was working out the…
kinks to her story, but since Remy had told
his side of the story without her permission in his , it felt good to hers out. Not that---she wasn’t particularly
sure where it was going, which was why her outlining process was taking this long and---
She paused, a frown crossing her face. There was
someone at her table. Someone was hindering on her creative outlet. Therese contemplated turning around and finding another table, but she knew she would spend the whole time boring holes into the back of this man’s head and hoping some wordless magic melted him on the spot. She shifted her bag on her shoulder and tossed her hair over her shoulder. She could get this table back.
“Excusez-moi, monsieur,” she said, dropping into the seat across from him. He seemed lost in his documents. “
Excusez---”