Gretel spoke in monotone, holding the small beat up cell phone to her ear. She looked down from the penthouse window at the busy Madison Avenue street. "I don't want to go to the woods, especially not with that hell of a stepmother getting drunk the whole time. This whole thing is her idea and papa is so oblivious he'll do anything she says." She stomped through the marble and - apartment, a materialization of her stepmother's elegance hungry vision. She rolled her eyes and pouted as she drew a small teardrop on her cheek in black eyeliner, upset at the thought of missing the 'Kill Death Kill' (her favorite band,) show that Saturday. She finally retired from her heavy pace and slumped herself into the large satin armchair, picking at her chipping black nail polish. A bulky suitcase, adorned with an array of band logos sat all packed up by the door, ready to go.