The one with violets in her lap.
Roses, lilies, irises, daises, lay motionless in the wicker basket.
Violet petals floating down from the gloved hand of a lady of white.
A single tear shed for no particular reason rolls down the lady’s face.
A hand still clutching the table cloth, strewn halfway off the table as the tea bleeds brown onto the pure white.
Stares of astonishment from Ladies of Red, Yellow and Blue, still gently holding their tea cups from across the half-clothed antique table.
A sly smile emerges from the Lady of Black.
Lady of Black takes a sup from her cup.
A hand gloved of black holds out a flowered tea cup above the splattered table cloth and slowly dumps the excess tea.
“I’ve always missed our little get-togethers.”