#eade

“I mean it! Up!”

A hand smacks twice on the open door before footfalls retreat, creaking down the stairs.

Round, blue eyes slip shut a heartbeat before being hidden, face and all, beneath heavy covers. She wants to go back to that dream. To an even better dream! The dream where she has a real tail and real horns, and is really -really- fierce! The sounds of morning, of Mama and Papa talking, of Taiga squealing and banging her wooden spoon against her table-seat, they distort and fade, muffled in the hush of falling asleep, rumbling with the echo and bloop of slipping her head under water.

She floats in a bubble of murmurs, turning her hands over to examine the scales that trail up her wrists, polished to a glittering shine. Her tail startles her as the rounded points bump against her calves, and as soon as the squeak of surprise is out of her mouth, it draws up in a gleeful grin. She swishes her tail wide and reaches up to feel the dark, glittering horns that hover at the edge of sight. They’re warm!

“Maielle Elise Chevalier! I said get up!”

The bubble about her pops, and before the stamp of feet reaches the landing, she’s thrown back her covers and tumbled from bed, hair a wild tangle of red.

“If you’re not done dressing, I’m carrying you down to break fast in your nameday garb!” Mama marches to the open chamber door, hands thrust on her hips in the way that says she really means it.

“I’m dressing, I promise!” She’s got her nightgown half off, her wardrobe thrown open, and her brush caught in her hair all at once.

“What am I to do with you, girl?” She doesn’t see the amused expression on Mama’s face, but it’s nearly audible. “You brush out that wildfire, I’ll lay out your clothes.”

“I want the blue tunic and the grey skirt.” She quickly corrects herself, “May I. Please.” It’s hopefully a good enough effort for messy-haired, undressed and sleepy.

“Your grey skirt is in the wash, but your grey breeches are clean, and it has the ribbons you like on the tail flap.” She’s already holding the tiny tunic and breeches over one arm and a set of clean smalls in her other hand. She lays them out on the bed  and squats down with the pink-trimmed smalls held out. “Step in.”

She’s really too big to let Mama dress her. Probably. But she has a feeling it makes Mama happy. And maybe it makes her a little happy too. Most people treat her like a grown lady, her false horns and pretty scale choker, polished scale wristlets and perfectly-stuffed tail almost make her look like a real Au Ra. People even think Papa is her real Papa sometimes, and that makes her happy.

Dressed and brushed and scaled, she trundles down the stairs with enthusiasm, greeted with Taiga’s cry for attention, tiny white teeth sitting crooked in a big, gummy smile. “Sissy!” She coos, reaching down to snuggle the already-fed and cleaned babe, earning herself an energetic “Ma-di-di!” in return. It’s not quite her name, but it makes her happy..