A billowing wind hit upon the house disrupting the meeting, but not stopping it. Thria noticed this, but didn't stop her sweeping of the mud. She was now in such a hissy that she was hardly listening to anything but her own words that were falling like hard breaths from her mouth. Her hands gripped the rags she held so tightly that she was sure she was going to rub her whole being into the floor. And the mud wasn't disappearing so easily. It was spreading out, making bigger splotches in the fibers of the rug.

She sat back now and uttered a curse or two.

Her back was beginning to ache so badly that she found herself grabbing at it as if that would help it stop throbbing. It didn't help.

Finally, now stooped back over the black blotches on the carpet, she resolved herself to getting it done and getting to bed. She was eager to get back to the romance book lying upstairs on her little nightstand.

Another wind slammed the house, causing Thria to look at the front door. It seemed to be quivering in its frame. The gold door handle moving about as if the wind had hands to turn it. She puzzled this as she stared at the way it was jerking about now.

When had the wind ever done that?

She stood, peering up the steps toward the meeting room. Obviously no one had heard the commotion of the front door. And the only reason it had been kept a secret was the horrible howling of the wind. Nothing could be heard unless you were on top of it.

She moved back toward the first step, but didn't go any further. The door was now quiet. The wind outside was still quite threatening, but it wasn't slamming the door anymore and Thria was thankful for that. She just wanted her book and her warm covers pulled up to her chin. Maybe she would even treat herself to a candy or two.

She looked down at her large waist and reasoned with herself that one or two candies couldn't hurt her.

And just as she was leaning over to pick up the bucket in order to go fill it again with cleaner water, the front door burst in upon its hinges, splinters of wood flying everywhere.

Thria dropped the bucket in astonishment. Snow was now billowing into the front hall, filling the bottom step of the stairway with whiteness.

She could see right out into the street. See the lamppost half covered in a blanket of white, reaching up toward the night sky as if to beg for help before it was totally taken over by the cold flakes.

More snow flew in, now landing in cold kisses on her fair skin. She looked up the steps and was surprised to see no one looking down upon her. Why hadn't anyone heard this racket? This was enough to wake the dead!

Turning back to the door, a look of anger mixed with worry on her face, she pulled back quickly, almost falling to her behind on the steps. Someone now stood in the doorway. His eyes locked upon her. His black hair laden with fluffs of white snow.

"Mr. Gray." She said softly and then she fainted upon the stairs.