"Moths do Not sting?" thought Grace as she stumbled back into the house. "That was supposed to make me feel Better? How about if I take a flyswatter to her overconfident little wings?...ManMOTH? Hmmph!"
Grace wanted to sulk. Maude had hurt her feelings that was certainly true, but there was something that Maude had said that had let a thought flutter loose in her head. It wandered just out of touch, ahead of her grasp somehow. Grace tried to calm herself enough to review the words that Maude had uttered. "Martyr" echoed down the halls of her self esteem. Well, I don't think so, thought Grace...but then again...she considered.Grace retreated from the thought and felt her own cheek, hot with anger.
Anger. real and right there at the surface. Maude's remarks and careless retorts had made her feel angry, or had she been angry before then? Angry. She had been so angry. And Anger realized made her feel Frightened and Anxious. Like she was going to take a ride on a wild beast, romp about and destroy the Garden. That night Grace had a dream. It was dark and there was something dripping on her head. She realized that she was covered by leaves and lay at the bottom of a large and suffocating Pile. The earth was gathered round close to her, pressed to shoulders with its rich loamy odor. At first, she panicked and tried to sit bolt upright, struggling for a bit of air. The leaves were gentle hands that pressed her down , down , down until she was sure she lay in a cave. All the while, there was something that dripped and dribbled on her head. Squinting she looked up to catch bits and pieces of her exchange with Maude, dribbling down through the ceiling of leaves above her. "Martyr" was the last thing that dripped through the mass, splashing coldly across her forehead, before she slept.