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She finished off the letter with a labourious signature, her letters as round and clumsy as a child’s first penmanship. Running a critical eye over the lopsided paragraphs, she let loose a dismissive huff and rolled up the parchment, ripping off a piece of ribbon with her teeth to tie around the scroll.

“Did you want to add a note to my pa?”
“What?”

She scowled at her husband, scooping up Loredar with one arm and trotting across the shopfront with the letter in hand. Depositing the baby alongside his sister in the crate which still served as their crib, she squared up to her reflection in the mirror and began to fretfully rake fingers through her ponytail. Flora’s eyes slid sideways to goggle at her brother, and she let out a series of throaty gurgles. Loredar made no reply, blinking sleepily.

“Y’know, like a friendly greeting. How are you, father?”

Aphel frowned at her, peering over the top of the newly-mended reading spectacles which vanity only permitted him to wear indoors. She frowned back, her hair even more rumpled than before after the interference, standing up on top of her head in a series of peaks and whorls.

“How are you, father?” he queried, tapping the tip of the quill on the countertop. “The man is four thousand years younger than me. In addition, in the majority of situations where we are forced to interact, we detest one another.”

She scowled at him, then quickly smoothed her fingers over her forehead to erase any lines. “Pfff. Fine.”

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1 Response so far »

  1. 1

    Aphel said,

    Aphel doesn’t like her “pa” that much. He’s been right nasty to the children, too!


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