[MYSTERY GIFT] Festive Findings

[victorianflorist]

Linkmoor sat in a worn leather chair, the legs of which had long ago scratched deep grooves into the hardwood floor below it. They looked at a few items on their desk; their eyes flicking from their typewriter and its empty page, to their empty mug, to their half eaten sandwich. Without family to visit this year, Linkmoor had intended to spend the holiday writing but it seemed that whatever force conjured creativity in the minds of novelists and poets was taking a holiday as well. They huffed, frustrated and picked up their mug, moving into the kitchen in the next room. The nondescript kitchen looked more like an extension of Linkmoor's study, with reference materials and drafts piled where another would put pots and pans or a fruit basket. The ancient fridge hummed with a deep rumble as Linkmoor pulled its door open, setting the mug atop a particularly dreadful bit of prose already thoroughly coated in coffee rings. They extracted a carafe of black coffee closing the fridge behind them, as they moved to fill the mug, Linkmoor slipped on an errant pen, the carafe fell from their grip and shattered, dousing their face in ice cold coffee. Linkmoor lied there, ashamed.