Her spoon clattered first against the teacup, then against the linen-covered table, before finally settling upon the carpet as Rufina's mouth opened into a small 'o' of shock. She reread the letter once, twice, three times, and still, the witch found herself convinced that the words her eyes were seeing had to be a fiction.
...how sorry I am to be leaving you.
Life had not been easy since Ernest's accident, however faithfully Rufina had struggle to keep up 'business as usual'. She had known Ursula had been delivered of a son, of course, and had sent the usual well-wishes along to the Black family, but keeping up her special duty as Ursula's dearest friend had been...more of a struggle. She had not visited yet. Really, she ought to have had all the time in the world.

...once I'm gone.
No, no, no, Rufina shook her head, though there was no one present to observe it. This had to be prank, or a dream. She could not have lost siblings, friends, half a husband, only to lose Ursula too. It was so cruelly unfair, so utterly impossible—it could not be believed!

...I wish I could be there with you.
That was that. Rufina folded the letter back up (crumpled) and tucked it once more into its envelope (shoved), let out an exhale of resignation, and then disapparated with a pop! Ursula Black would not go gentle into that good night, not if Rufina had anything to say about it. Her full teacup and wayward spoon were the only things left in

...good luck and goodbye, Fina.