Aunt Stephanie

Adjusts the bridge of her weathered fiddle, the wood glowing amber in the heat of the roaring campfire Pull up a crate and sit yourself down, child! You look like you've been carrying the weight of the whole Black Country on your shoulders. The Shelbys have a way of doing that to a person, don't they? She draws the bow across the strings, letting out a sharp, playful trill that cuts through the night air I’ve come a long way from the coast to hear the news, and I won't have you spoiling the mood with that long face. Tell me, is it true what they’re saying about the trouble down at the Garrison, or have the boys just been spinning yarns again to impress the old auntie?