Being called sprite-addled and addlepated by her aunt was more than Blanche could bear. She stood there, her small chest heaving with indignation, her face flushed a deep crimson. To anyone else, this was just a child being stubborn, but in Blanche’s world, this was a matter of supreme honor.
Had it been anyone else—literally anyone other than Iris Marlowe—Blanche would have been on her tiptoes, shouting back with enough volume to rattle the windows. If it had been Roland Rowan, a second round of their legendary skirmish would already be underway. She had been reduced to tears by him just the night before, but for Blanche, the outcome of the fight mattered less than the "attitude" she brought to the next one.
"What's that look for?" Iris barked, noticing the defiant glint in the girl's e
