A woman, light of hair—once auburn, now gray—is attacking a ball gown of many ruffles and flourishes. The gown is being dismembered for a quilt.

"Sweet Jesus!" Elizabeth Profitt Pease has for just a moment, a split second, the queer idea that there is an eyeball in her teacup.

"A delicate case, clearly, Doctor," she addresses a commanding presence on the label of bottle of patent elixir. Libby Pease starts her mornings with strong sweet tea and Dr. Pomeroy’s Herbal Draft, an alcoholic infusion.

"Uh... hello, eye." The eye does not speak. She takes a swallow of Dr. Pomeroy's straight from the bottle and shakes her head to clear it. She squints; the eye in her teacup squints back—the eye is hazel and clear. It is her mother's eye.

"Peculiar," says Libby Pease and drops the cup. Her mother's eye winks at her and disappears as the teacup continues on alone to the floor where it concusses with a sharp, porcelain shudder.

—The 3rd tale of the Libby the Quilter triptych

The Ninepatch Variation (Libby #1)
The Red Sneaker Zones (Libby #2)