Miss Winters

iii. The Rule of Three

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The morning sun shone through the open windows and brightened the parlour room with glimmering golden beams. Flowers embellished the walls and similar designs scattered along the chairs stationed around the room. The table remained empty save for a white embroidered tablecloth and a couple of marigolds that sat comfortably in a vase. On the wall hung a beautifully carved wooden clock with hands frozen in time. Beneath lay the fireplace, left barren of any heat.

Reddish-brown strands of hair lay scattered carelessly on a plump beige cushion. The light of dawn brought out the faded freckles that ran along the bridge of her nose and raced across her cheeks. Soot stained her waistcoat and breeches. The legs were propped to the side of where she lay on a chair. One arm limply hung off the side while the other dangled above the backrest. She slouched on the chair in her sleep. Snuggling into the cushions. An old leather book remained abandoned on the floor.

Laura stirred from her rest. Back aching from its twisted position. She remembered reading her father's copy of 'Patrick Bestiary: A Collection of Monsters and Creatures'. His notes were scribbled on most pages. Ink blotches dribbled onto others. The leather binding was scratched by constant use and age. Laura fumbled to find the book, her hand connecting with it on the floor.

Noticing movement in the corner of her eye, she dropped the bestiary and spun towards the unknown figure. The book tumbled onto the floor. Landing with a loud thud.

Her eyes focused on the supposed intruder. An easel and canvas covered their face from view. Wings spread out on either side. Feathers gleamed a glossy green and blue with the longer wing feathers being coloured a dark mauve. A hand holding a palette kept popping in and out of sight before finally, the painter's head popped out instead.

"How was your nap?" Cecília asked as she fixed the shawl that loosely hung from her shoulders. Her wrinkles were more prominent on her brow. The edges of her lips turned up in mirth. She was trying not to laugh, likely having seen Laura's earlier distress.

Calming herself, Laura tried to crack the bones in her back. Stretching her body to rid herself of the cramps that plagued it. To Cecília's comment, she rolled her eyes and replied jovially, "I found it quite fulfilling."

Cecília chuckled as she could no longer hide her amusement. Stepping around her easel, her face began to display a more serious tone. Her temple scrunched in apparent frustration as she brought her index finger and thumb up to Laura's temple. With a gentle thump, the sylph flicked her.

"What's that for?!" Laura cried out. Rubbing her forehead in mock pain.

"You came home late last night, covered in soot and fell asleep in the parlour room. Mind you, without even letting me know you were alive and well. Did you even remember your little friend?" Cecília glared pointedly at Laura before moving back to the easel to finish her work. The shawl slipped from her back as her shimmering feathers ruffled. The long wings stretch out in freedom.

"Friend?" Laura asked and tried to recall what she meant. Then it clicked. "Oh, the salamander. Is it okay?"

"Of course it is," Cecília assured. "I have relocated it to your room. In the morrow, I will send word to the sanctuary in Rosmertía. It will likely take a week for them to arrive. Until then we will care for the salamander."

"Thank you, Cecília."

"You're welcome. Now come along. Your complexion pales. You are in need of some fresh air and sunlight," the sylph reasoned. Retrieving the fallen shawl and returning it to cover her shoulders.