The doorbell HAD chimed, yet no one stood just outside the
white painted oak of 108 Mifflin street. A skeptical frown
creases her brow as she begins to close the door. It was
just like the idiots in this town to derive some measure of
AMUSEMENT from such a juvenile prank.
Hearing the door close and the click of angry heels coming out of the foyer, Maleficent shrugs her coat off without care to whether or not she will be welcome to stay. “Don’t be mad at me,” she says smiling from her spot on the couch, which she’d appeared on as if out of thin air, just as Regina made her way into view. “I couldn’t resist.”