Its morning and its rush hour. Not just the car's either. A steady stream of customers clamour for attention in the leafy coffee shop; they have been coming in pulses for a while now and they are beginning to fill up the available space. Ordinarily this coffee shop was serene and peaceful with its brickwork pillars and potted plants. Not right now - the bubble of voices and the swish of moving people is threatening to burst the shop's banks and pour out onto the street.

Hardly any space to sit.

Not that Ingrid needs that much space. She is thin enough already. She has her corner; she has her book; she has her coffee. But she is not drinking coffee. Not like the other patrons. Ingrid is getting her morning fix of Desire. And a trace mixture of other emotions as well. Why else would she be here if not for the Glamour? She doesn't work, exactly, and the book is an anaemic urban fantasy whose mary sue protagonist's one redeeming quality is her vindictiveness - but only if she has a group with her; rob her of her audience and she will fold. Ingrid would just love to mess around with someone like that.

The Glamour is like the morning coffee. Its hot, fast, and needed. So many of the Normal's lead break neck lives without time for quiet or rest. The desire for a morning coffee is animal and almost visceral. A need as dramatic as any addiction - for without it they cannot function.

And the Emerald Queen was sitting there, lapping it all up.

"Is it a good book?" She had been smiling again. Some idiot had thought that meant they should talk. Drink your coffee and go!

Ingrid suppressed an eye roll. "No. Its totally awful."

"Oh." Her abortive conversation partner was left stymied. They got up and left, taking their aromatic brew with them.

Ingrid got a shot of envy with her morning Glamour with that one.