Faustine Dryden
I braced myself for the most horridest of women to take a heavy step in through the threshold but was surprised when a tiny, plump woman with curly brown hair hobbled in instead. She had a huge, comforting smile on her wrinkling face and she wiped her hands on the flowery apron she was bearing confidently before sitting down on the chair Reynard offered her.
"Ashli, is it, love?" she beamed with the voice of a nice, old grandmother. "How're you feeling, deary?"
I looked nervously at Reynard who was just standing there, smiling, but his eyes were telling me to answer positively.
"Very well, madam," I said demurely.
She laughed heartily before saying, "No need to call me 'Madam', lovey. That makes me feel old. Just call me Faustine, that'll suffice."