C161 Is The Mug Too Hot To Handle?

With each step, Avery's heels beat a furious rhythm on the worn linoleum, echoing through hers and her mother’s cramped apartment that had become more of a prison than a refuge. "Mother!" Her voice was sharp and cutting, piercing the stale air like a knife searching for its target.

Dora lounged on a threadbare couch, the flicker of the television casting ghoulish shadows on her face