Dumb Supper

Back straight. White ruff collar ridiculously perched under her chin; her expression cold, her eyes cruel, empty. Pale hands clasped in her lap, feet neatly, silently wait together in her tightly laced boots under the heavy robe. Echoed steps can be heard slowly thump through the door, making their way along the wooden floor. Single handedly, the dish is placed upon the setting, reflective dome reverently removed. Her eyes blink closed, slowly open as she turns her head slightly to meet his gaze with a nod, close again and return to position zero. The dish is removed without a sound.