“Here, take this comb in token of –”
“In token of what? Your certain uncertain feelings for me?”
“Come on, don’t complicate things. Get over it. I told you there never was a chance.”
“It might be poisoned.”
“The comb might be poisoned, like in the fairy tale.”
“And I’m your evil stepmother, right?”
She threw it down on the floor and stomped off with a disgusted shake of her long black mane.
I was nearly proud of myself. I had finally elicited some kind of strong emotion from her – even though it was a useless one and, most likely, was going to be very momentary.
Written for One Single Impression and ‘comb’.