ARCANE

002

Hope pulls her stiff body upright, flicking on the lamp next to her bed. She glances down at the round, white-faced clock on her dresser. It is far too late for her to still be awake. At least, her father isn't home to here the soft ruffling of her sheets. In the otherwise silent house, the sound of her hand brushing her eyelids softly seems magnified.

She pulls her legs out of the bed, dropping down into her slippers. They were a Christmas gift from her mother years ago (her father has a habit of giving Hope gifts from both parents though one is long buried). The hardwood floors in her bedroom are too cold for her delicate feet. Hope tucks the blankets back into position, smoothing out the sheets carefully. Though she knows no one will see her messy bed, she can't help but keep the quilt pristine and the pillows fluffed to perfection. Her eyes turn to her closet, as she begins to eye up an outfit to wear.

Hope cracks the window open, leaning in close to the screen door. The wind outside is stronger than ever, strangling the warm room. She decides on a pair of black slacks, along with a raspberry windbreaker. She zips it up tight, glancing at herself in the mirror next to the door.

The weather is simply too volatile for only a jacket. Hope grabs a matching set of gloves and a scarf. Though she can fit the gloves in her pocket, she is forced to tie the scarf haphazardly around her waist. Carefully, she makes her way back to the screen window. She unhinges it, dragging it out of the window and on to the floor. She tucks the screen under her bed, before moving out of the window.

She sits on the ledge, her feet dangling an inch above the lower half of the roof. The brown shingles are in good condition, except for a single trail leading to the edge. Hope tips her weight downwards, tentatively placing the tips of her toes down. Slowly, she lets them rest against the roof, until she is sure the house is still sturdy enough to hold her entire weight.

Hope moves down, sitting on the roof. It is like this that she crawls like a crab towards the edge. She keeps a careful eye on her scarf, watching the bright flash of turquoise slither behind her, rather than beneath her. If she trips, she knows she'll fall. It happened once before, and that was hard to explain to her Dad. At least it had happened during the daytime. Tonight, she is alone.

Once she is at the edge of the roof, she stands. Her toes, in her black converse, hang over the eavestrough, her arms outstretched above her. She grabs the branch of the tree above her, wrapping her fists around it tightly. With one last look behind her, she pulls herself into the tree and begins to climb down from her second-storey bedroom.

   

~~~   

Percy stabs her key into the lock, jamming the door open and storming through the main room. She kicks her bedroom door open and collapses on her bed. From beneath the kitchen table, Hades looks up at her. Percy watches him pull himself off the ground through the doorway. He trots over to her bed, his face inches from hers.

"Guess what bud?" She doesn't have the energy to reach up and touch him. Her voice is shushed by the thick comforter which covers her mouth. "Front of house didn't tip out tonight, and I got cut two hours late. Isn't that the best?"

Hades cocks his head to the side and whines. Percy rolls her eyes, pulling herself up out of bed. She kicks off her thick, smelling, non-slip shoes. Her nose crinkles at the pungent odour, already filling the small apartment. Unfortunately, she decides that if she doesn't fix this now, in the morning the superintendent will have to quarantine the whole building. Percy drags herself into the kitchen, puts the shoes in a plastic resealable bag, and puts the bag in her freezer.