Madeline's sleek black pumps clack against the steps of her staircase as she zooms up them, faster than you'd probably expect for a five foot something woman in six inch heels. She snatches up a poor unsuspecting porcelain vase as she storms through the cooridor and into her bedroom, swinging open the door of the balcony. She's just about to raise her object of attack and hurl it down at whoever on Earth decided to show up uninvited at this hour — she has her suspicions — before she sees you. Down there. On her gravel roundabout.

And you most certainly do not look malicious.

Of course, when you see her above you looking like she's about to drop a vase on your head, you look a little more alarmed than you did ten seconds ago.

That's when Madeline realizes that she forgot she called on a new estate investor. She blinks and silently curses herself as she lowers the vase, almost sheepishly. Without an utterance of apology or explanation, she clears her throat.

"I'll be down in a moment." She mutters before gingerly retreating back inside, smoothing out her dress with her hand as she goes.

Foolish. Just foolish, Madeline.