"Blanche! For the love of—!" Ethan Gray shouted, instinctively covering his eyes as if he’d stumbled into a crime scene.
"Present!" Blanche replied, her voice crisp and entirely too cheerful. She didn't seem to register the sheer panic in Ethan’s voice. "What’s the matter, Mister? You look like you saw a barrow-wight."
"Where are your clothes?" Ethan demanded through his fingers.
"My clothes?" she echoed, as if he were asking about the whereabouts of a random pebble.
"Yes! Your shirt! Your dignity!"
"Took 'em off," she said matter-of-factly.
"Why? Put them back on this instant!"
"They’re dirty!" she shouted back, her voice echoing in the hallway. "They were all yucky, so I did a scrubby-dub. They’re wet now!"
Blanche stood there with a terrifying amount of toddler arrogance, her sm
