A Hidden Perspective

Part 1

Genevieve woke up.

    The sunlight was shining through the shutters again, blinding her already bleary eyes as they opened. Blinking furiously, she pushed herself back into a more favorable position, watching the rays of light dance across the floor and through the dusty air; going this way, that way, back and forth, and sometimes fading entirely as clouds above passed by.

    But, she reminded herself (with the help of another ray of sunlight shining directly into her eyes), this wasn't the time to sit back and get another ten minutes of shut-eye. Not unless she wanted to be dragged out of bed by the ear.

    Not to mention that this was why she set up her bed here in the first place. It was kind of hard to ignore sunrise when she had a natural alarm clock blasting her in the face every morning.

    Oliver had brought home an artificial – a human – one before, but that just ended up leaving everyone's ears ringing for a week. So they all learned their lesson from that.

    Enough procrastinating.

    Right.

    She forced herself up with a stretch and slipped her feet over the edge of the bed. A tight yawn escaped her, involuntarily squeezing her eyes shut as she did.

    Genevieve's steps left a series of gentle tap-tap-taps across the vast, expansive studio apartment they occupied. Why they needed one – or needed to actually buy one – was something she didn't understand. It was probably infinitely more space than they would ever need, and they were hardly using any of it.

    Her soft footsteps shifted into a harsher landing every time she jumped from one floorboard to the next. For those the home was made for, it wouldn't be much of an issue, but the decrepit woodwork left quite a few places big enough to get your leg stuck in...or entirely fall through.

    Step. Step. Step. Hop.

    Step. Step. Step. Hop.

    Step. Step. Step. H—oh SHIT

    Her balance faltered as she slipped up the landing, stumbling one, two steps back and–

    Genevieve planted a solid foot down, shakily regaining her footing before brushing the dust off of her clothes.

    THAT was embarrassing.

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    Stumbling mishaps aside, it only took a few minutes for her to make her way back to her family's real dwelling, a good distance from her bed.

    Anyone with a passing glance at their room would probably look over the little wooden crate in the corner as some unpacked possessions, akin to the rest of the boxes littered across their room. But she knew better.

    As she approached the box's side and the small fabric flap used as a doorway, a familiar, delectable smell wafted towards her.

    No way.

    Genevieve's relaxed steps sped up to an earnest bound, bursting through the entrance with a

    "Mom made fruit tarts?"

    Her eyes scanned through the room, past the additional doorways, past the hand-carved chairs and countertops, past the basin of rainwater, right to the dinner table...with the platter of freshly baked goods left only with crumbs and a lone blueberry tart.