"What do you mean you've misplaced your wand, Faustine? If this is another one of your little practical jokes, I'll have you know, my sensibility level is knee-high, at best," Thomasine ranted.
"Good heavens, Thomasine. What on earth could make you believe I would jest about such a thing? Why, the very idea of my wand in the wrong hands leaves me alarmed beyond comprehension." She shuddered. "And, because the blasted thing has gone missing, I am stuck in this dust, rat-infested hole until we locate it."
"What a horrid thing to say. My castle is not rat-infested." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "But that is neither here nor there. You are right. It does not bear thinking of what consequences should emerge if the wrong person were to possess it. I best return, before someone wonders what has become of me. Give me a sign of some sort once you have located it."
Thomasine swept from the room, leaving behind a flustered, frustrated Faustine. Disgust filled her. What more could go wrong?
Muted screams reached Faustine's ears. "Well, that did not take long," she muttered, darting for the door. One should not tempt fate in the manner of such a question, she chastised, hastily quitting the chamber.