Seraphina's Point Of View
The yellow fluorescent tube in the corner of my office had this incredibly annoying, high-pitched hum that traveled straight into the back of my skull every five seconds. I rubbed the bridge of my nose, leaving a faint smudge of graphite from the pencil I'd been using to tally up the quarterly logistics sheets. The paper was rough under my fingertips, stacked so high on my mahogany desk that it practically blocked my view of the frosted glass door. My fingers were stiff, cramping into an awkward claw shape from hours of hunting down missing decimal points in files that looked older than my grandmother's house.
Thud.
