She always drank tea when she wanted to write about betrayal.
She'd begin by simply holding the glass mug
Four fingers pressed to the warmth on the inside of the handle.

If she began having trouble with the words she'd lift the tips of her fingers and tap her nails along the side
If it got bad she'd take a gulp and pull her hand away long enough to tie back the suddenly bothersome hair in her face.

After a moment the thought would come back and she'd lay the top of her hand along the side
Feeling a slight burn she couldn't feel holding it any other way.

As her mind pulled the words together she'd trace circles with the back of her hand and fingers
Every line or two she'd stop for a gentle sip, savoring the taste the liquid left on her tongue.

As the end of her piece crept near she began, absently
To **** down the amber growing cold under her fingers.

Her fingers found their way through the handle once more
This time without the comforting heat to meet them.

She'd take the last sips with the last words
Let the cage of tea leaves fall to the depths of the mug
Shove the mug up the surface of the desk

And smile.