Humphrey lowered his defiant stare and studied his feet. He reached for one of the clipboards hanging from pegs on the door frame and looked up. When will that wretched woman understand things should not be rushed?, he thought. He slammed one fist on the table now deserted by the twelve others. They were now standing in a single file right before Isabelle’s door. The woman at the head of the lineup extended one hand towards the doorknob. Humphrey hissed at the woman and paused before looking at Esmé again.
“In the beginning, there was light. And He said that was good. And He drank from the Chalice and obscured our sight. Mark my words: we must locate it, Esmé. We must. We have no other choice. Time is running out.”
“And what,” she spat, “are your puny neurons transmitting right now, you extraordinary moron? We have been waiting for this revelation of yours patiently, we have tried to be our most understanding but this charade has to stop, Humphrey! We have been very supportive. And so far, all our efforts have been in vain.”
“I haven’t –“ Humphrey slithered away from Esmé.
“No! You haven’t! You seem not to have the capability of channeling her. How many times, Humphrey, how many times will I have to explain this?”
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Thank you for your words. They feed my words, hence everybody's happy.