Desiree didn’t used to indulge her compulsions. There was a time, years ago, when she ignored them. Of course, that was before her grandmother came to visit on the night of the winter festivities. That year changed everything. Desiree’s home world had festivities for every season, but winter was the harshest season of all, which meant people took the winter season’s traditions more seriously than the others. No one outright said it, but it was understood that to disregard the winter traditions meant to bring bad luck to the household. Or workplace. Desiree lived at her workplace, as did most of the female staff of the factory.

Desiree’s grandmother didn’t respect festivities. She’d also raised Desiree then dumped her at the factory once she came of age. The factory was a front for a seedier business that society at large turned a blind eye toward. Men had their vices. The factory’s working staff catered to them, Desiree included. The factory’s winter festival was meant to be a reprieve, where all the female workers could get together and have a party with whatever decorations and food they desired. It had become tradition to weave yarn into puppets that resembled the bosses and sew leftover gears into dress hems, shaping the designs into flowers with thorns. Desiree was humming a festival tune, stitching a thorn into place, when her grandmother invaded their space.

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“A word,” said Desiree’s grandmother.

“How kind of you to join in our festivities,” said Desiree brightly. She stitched another thorn and ignored the compulsion to toss the needle at the far side of the room. Silly, silly. There was no reason to throw sharp objects. No reason at all. But the strangest thing was the compulsions were worse when there wasn’t a reason for them. “Hello, grandmother.”

“You’d rather I speak here, in front of your coworkers?”

“How’s your latest painting?”

“Misdirection will get you nowhere. I’ll be heard regardless of where you are.”

Desiree put her stitching aside and fiddled with the needle. That spot near the door, at the far end of the factory from where she sat, looked more and more appealing. Her grandmother stared down at her, then knelt to meet her at eye level.

“Throw it,” said her grandmother.

“There’s nothing but silliness behind the urge.”

“You know better than that.”

Because Desiree didn’t throw the needle, a furious man got inside unhindered.