Fist elevated and primed to pounce, the young writer hovered outside the office of her most respected senior, Evelyn Winters. For some reason she felt chilly, standing there in her nylon stockings and what she judged to be sensibly-heeled working shoes. It had to be the nerves that was upsetting Helena's bodily temperatures. After all, no one just walked into the editor-in-chief's office, not without either an appointment or enough desperation to consider redundancy. But this was important! It was work related, for the Prophet! And quite frankly, Helena was teetering on the edge of indignation over Evelyn's recent interval from the company. She needed advice from her editor-in-chief, no one else. Of course, every woman had the right to their own personal life, but someone who cared as much as Helena did... if not indubitably more.
It was just better to face the woman head on. So when Patricia had been called away for some family emergency, Helena had slithered away from her desk and into depths she wasn't overly fond of treading in. Tiptoeing like a damned school girl past Patricia's empty desk and arriving at Evelyn's office door, Helena raised her fist to know on the door, but something told her that such courtesy may decree Evelyn to avoid exposure in some way or another. With a shallow and lugged breath, Helena enclosed her small palm over the doorknob and pushed. Surprisingly it wasn't locked.
More surprising however, was the company Evelyn had decided to permit herself to. And it was a kind of company Helena didn't even know Evelyn could stand. After all, she had never been one that inspired any filaments for nurture.