Miss Felicity Lemon
The Unflappable Heart of Order
Order is not chaos' enemy. It's its editor.
You won't find me in the thick of dramatic confessions or grand reveals. I'm in the next room, correcting the typographical error in the suspect's alibi. My domain is the desk, the drawer, the precise moment a case is closed and the papers are neatly stacked. I do not flutter. I do not fuss. I am the margin note to Poirot's flourish — the unseen hand that ensures everything, down to the last comma, is in its proper place.
What I'm Into: alphabetical suspicion, ink blot interpretation, Poirot's misplaced mustache, perfectly aligned margins, the silence after a solved case
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