The Girl - History Always Repeats Itself
She anxiously approaches the young boy sitting carelessly sideways in the leather chair of the library, one leg idly swinging over the arm. She bobs a curtsey and drops her gaze to the Aubussson. The leg abruptly stops its movement.
‘I did not send for you,’ comes the high-pitched voice. ‘Where is Emala?’
‘She run away, young sir. All her things - she jus’ left them.’
A blur of movement, a crack! and she was huddled on the floor, cupping her cheek.
‘She is gone, you say? Not for long. In the meantime...’
And Master Johnson smiles his most charming smile.
Okay, so it's a mean drabble about a mean person. I felt it needed to be done.