The only indicator of Moira's mood was the tightness of her bun. Her hair was wound into a perfect ball atop her head, not a single hair out of place, no irregularities or bumps, and her hair was pulled so tightly to her scalp that even the strictest ballet teacher would struggle to find anything to criticise. There were no visible pins or decorations. The silver haircomb that she often wore for work was missing. No ribbons or coloured stones broke the dark, almost black colour of her tamed mane. It was absolutely all-business. Moira was vexed, but this really was the only outward sign of her emotional state.
Otherwise, she appeared much the same as any other day. Quiet and serious. Confident in her knowledge, but in an unassuming way that never let anyone feel talked-over or outsmarted. She always worked better when alone, but she was always polite and gracious to anyone who came by, seeing to their requests without any hint of reluctance or irritation. Her lips were always pursed into a soft line of concentration, wide grey-blue eyes far more expressive than the rest of her face and body. But Moira was trained in hiding her thoughts and feelings. Not only because she was a private person, but because she had been trained to believe that she was entirely uninteresting to everyone and that no-one needed to have their day darkened by her burdens.
And oh, was she burdened. She felt like her life, her marriage, her family and stability was spiraling around the plughole. All of her insecurities and concerns had been founded - she'd spent the last three years telling herself that she was being silly, only to find that her suspicions had been right all along. There
was someone else. Cezary's heart belonged to someone else. She couldn't even bring herself to
think about that person's name, for fear her face would flood with shame. And she felt intensely ashamed. Soon everyone would know. She would be the water-cooler gossip. How would she ever show her face in polite society again?
She gave a slight shake of her head, trying to clear away those thoughts as she pulled open an enchanted refrigerator and used her wand to float the corpse to her slab. This was her last task of the day... and she'd been purposely saving it to cheer herself up. A poison victim. Her favourite. Her wine lips curled into a soft smile as she surveyed the darkened flesh of his body, her spirits lifting considerably. Able to forget about her marital problems for a moment, she adjusted her gloves and lifted a blade. Moira's work was always precise. She approached her table as if it were an altar and her work were the ritualised worship of a pagan goddess. And she was able to lose herself in the methodical processes from the first incision, her body falling into a well practiced routine, while her mind took careful analysis, the room around her hushed with the unearthly silence of a cathedral or gravesi-
The door creaked, and her head snapped up, the spell of solitude broken. But a polite smile graced her delicate features and she inclined her head in greeting to the Healer. "Ah, Healer McLaren, what a happy coincidence, I'm just looking at your patient now. Was there something you wanted to see?"
@Elliott McLaren 
