make breakfast for myself

sun's up, a little after twelve
make breakfast for myself, leave the work for someone else

The flowerbeds beside her rustled. Ángie turned her head slightly, keeping one eye on her increasingly-fanatical baby-sitter while listening out for the sound again. It was subtle. Probably the wind.

Something shifted in the corner of her vision. Abandoning her sights from Anita, Ángie twisted her neck around just in time to see a man crouch down beside her. She didn’t recognise him, but then again, he was very unremarkable. Nor was he anyone important, like daddy or Uncle Arthur. Probably just the help.

Even so, a servant could cause her problems now if he decided to give away her position. He was gazing off into the distance rather than looking at her, but she eyed him suspiciously, calculating. If he called Anita over, she’d have no chance of running – there were guards and bystanders everywhere. Her plan to find Uncle Arthur would have to be abandoned. She’d still be able to deliver some good old-fashioned revenge, though; she was in a good position to be able to kick him in the shins from here, and she could scream loudly enough to make his ears ring for several minutes.

He spoke after a brief pause, his question causing the hairs to stand up on the back of her head. Ángie hadn’t had much interaction with people outside of family, but nobody she’d spoken to called her Mallos’ daughter. Everyone knew who she was. The man used the English variant of her name, anj-el-ah, instead of the Spanish her parents employed, an-khe-lah. That wasn’t suspicious in itself, since most of the help also adopted the English version, but it was also the name that Anita was running around and shouting right now. No way was Ángela about to identify herself to someone who would probably just stand up and shout here she is!

“No.” She told him without pause. Only four, Ángela was already an excellent liar. It was a skill which both her parents valued. “I’m Morgana.”

Her half-sister’s name was the one which came to her the quickest, so she employed it smoothly while keeping him guardedly within her sights. If he made a move to stand, she’d get kicking.

progeny of the warbird and the sun-god

image by sunny m5


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