Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
~ William Butler Yeats
Saturday, January 27th ~ Morning
As Lucius moved away from the back of her chair and proceeded to seat Bella, Narcissa swallowed while delicately wrinkling her nose at the odor assaulting her nostrils. It had to be coming from one of the covered dishes on the breakfast table.
"What is that atrocious aroma? Lucius, Bella? Did one of you request something odious this morning?"
Covering her nose with the hankie she kept in a pocket, she started to lift the various coverings.
"I didn't say anything last night, but the broccoli must not have been entirely fresh. The odor from it was almost enough to make me ill. Whatever this is - is succeeding where that failed."