Mama Jude's Lament

I met a homeless woman outside the library the other day. She called herself Mama Jude, and told me a very long story about how she was one of the last members of an Illuminati dynasty, and about how she was engaged to a high-ranking member of Anonymous. She called him "her V," like V for Vendetta.

At one point, she was outlining to me the very business-like transaction she felt her engagement with V was. She said that she needed contacts among anonymous, and that he needed to connection to the Illuminati. Together, they were going to make political history, because no hacktivist had ever risen openly working with a woman. "I suppose that's true," I said to her, not being able to recall any prominent hackers who even really had girlfriends.
"And you know what? You know why he needs me even more?" Mama Jude asked, looking me straight in the eyes.
"I, uh. Why?" She drew nearer to me, and I tried to return her gaze, to not look into her mouth at her too-long teeth. It didn't work.
"'Cause," she started, and reached underneath her enormous fanny-pack to her shorts. She fumbled in her pocket for just a moment, and produced a small key with a worn, blue cover. Even as she pulled the key into my vision, she cupped her hand around it gingerly, like it was a grasshopper trying to escape her hand. I looked back up to Mama Jude. She was still looking at me, smirking. "I've got the blue key."