Ink

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Extract from Part 2:
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Whatever business had occupied the strange landlady all this time was now complete. She had appeared from the backroom of the Bed & Breakfast like a swift, raging hurricane — battering cupboard doors and wobbling sideboards (and the vases resting upon them). Her jaunting stirred the potpourri causing several crispy, scented flakes to escape out of the bowl and descend to the floor. Like embalmed corpses ready for burial, they rubbed their perfume scents upon the cold slab. The large landlady half-bent over in an attempt to gather them all — but gave up due to the screeching in her knees.