"I don't like her eyes," complained the Warden, pushing his bloated face up to Jinna's nose.
Good. I hope you find fault with more of my appearance.
Everything about Jinna was too pretty for the Warden: her delicate features, her straight, coppery hair and the slender hands that idly fingered the white waist sash.
"I believe the Count mentioned how fed up he was with the average looking, poorly educated runts you trained up." The House Supervisor, accustomed to the rants, smoothly diverted his disinterest.
Jinna watched the Warden's bloodshot eyes narrow with hatred. She had selled his ego when he'd waddled into the hall. He thrived on power as keeper of the Termions, looking down on the Supervisors who worked a thousand times harder keeping the City's lower class monitored. Turn your gaudy, purple and black robed self back around and leave me here.
The previous evening Jinn had remained firm in her belief that none of the wild theories from Accommodation Forty-Two could match the truth behind the Termions. Unfortunately, with the House Supervisor pushing for the Warden's acceptance, it looked like she'd be the one to discover the truth.
I don't want to be evil. Jinna dropped her gaze, uncomfortable with the Warden's continued scrutiny.Mama, you'd promised being beautiful would keep me safe.
"She's too old." Spittle landed on Jinna's cheek. Dirt in any form sent her racing for the recycled water tap. She had to settle with a nonchalant wipe from a finger.