Agatha sat on the mantle of the fireplace glaring death at me this morning. Tiny iridescent wings buzzing with irritation from time to time, dragging my attention back to her even thought I studiously tried to ignore her. Damn Pixies.
“When are you going to write?” She demanded, blond bob shaking with frustration.
“I don’t know,” I answered, sipping my coffee.
“You’re here now. So – write something.”
I sighed. “Did Liam send you?”
“I sent myself, because you left me in the woods with a child and I had sap on my hands. SAP! You’ve left me sitting in the woods with sap on my hands for months! Sap on my hands, my skirt, it gets everywhere! Go write me out of that mess before I – I – “
“Before you what?” I asked.
She huffed, crossing her arms over her tiny chest and mumbled.
“I’ll write, don’t worry. It’s coming.” I got up to take my shower. “Go tell Liam to dress warm, he’s on his way North.”
“What about the sap?!” She whined.
“Go take a bath,” I suggested and left her sitting on the lip of the mantle between a picture of the woods and a pewter candle holder.
I guess there’s writing to be done. Liam is going North, and Agatha needs a bath to get the sap off her hands… but first I think I’ll make sure she gets sap in her hair, and on her wings. God, she’s gonna hate me. Good times.
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