Anna Scanlan

Daisies

The chair she sat on was an intricately carved piece of woodwork upholstered with the finest silk in all of Europe dyed a brilliant blue. She’d loved it when Gerard had brought it home from one of his frequent visits to the Italian coast, but now she was beginning to despise it. Not for reasons of physical comfort, no. The chair was plush in all the right places, perfect for hours of sitting perfectly poised, staring straight ahead. But for each hour that she stared, her repulsion for the disgustingly gorgeous piece of furniture multiplied.