Love Crafted

You wake up with a stretch that has your toes curling and your back going snip-snap. It’s a good stretch, one that makes all your limbs wiggle in post-nap happiness.

“Finally,” says a voice from off to your side.

You blink the evil eye crud away and take in the person tucked up against your side. Daphne is laying there, her brown hair which is usually all neat and tidy poking out every which way and her eyes fixed on you in a low simmering glare.

She has Abigail tucked up against her in a hug from behind, and you are pressed up against Abigail’s tummy. There are of course tentacuddlers all over because you are the best at hugging. “Hrm?” you ask.

“Can you let me out?” Daphne asks.

She doesn’t seem upset about hugging Abigail, which is normal. Hugging Abigail is fun, if you do it hard enough she lets out these little squeaks that make you want to hug her even more.

Daphne sighs. “I really need to use the ladies room.”

“But you’re a lady, and we’re in your room,” you say.

Abigail giggles. She was awake the whole time, even though her eyes were closed. Was she stealth napping? All is forgiven when she pulls you closer and into her warm chest and squeezes you tight-tight. “Good morning Dreamer,” she says a moment later when she lets go. “Daphne is right, I need to go to the bathroom too.”

The next few minutes are a blur. The girls run off to the bathrooms, because this house has more than one, then Daphne insists that Abigail can’t wear the same thing two days in a row and there’s a big kerfuffle about finding her a dress that fits and isn’t too Daphne-ish.

You, of course, have lots of your own dress left around, all of them brand new and extra swooshy. So you wear one of those and spin-spin a few times to break it in while the girls get dressed and ready.

“Are you having breakfast here?” Daphne asks.

“Ah,” Abigail says. “We shouldn’t impose. M-maybe we can grab a bite for a street vendor on the way back home?”

“Are you trying to tempt me to come along?” Daphne asks, a sly smile sneaking onto her face.

Abigail laughs again and adjusts her glasses. “No, of course not. But you do like vendor food.”

“It’s so disgustingly low-class,” Daphne says with a harrumph. “It has no business tasting so good.”

Now you’re hungry again. “Let’s go eat these vendors,” you declare.

The three of you troop out of the house, an impeccable Edmund wishing you a nice day on the way out and warning you that it might rain later even as he pushes an umbrella into Daphne’s hands.

The city is alive this early in the morning, people rushing around or just strolling at a leisurely pace. You lead the way, dress flouncing around you and hair bouncing on your head with every skip. Hair is nice, it’s like having a lot of small, useless tentacles stuck to your head. You see lots of people, especially women, tying their hair in braids and stuff, but you would never do that to one of your tentacles.

“Do we have work today?” you ask Abigail.

“Ah, no,” she says. “Today’s Lastday.”

“What’s that?”

Abigail blinks the way she does when you do something awesome. “Ah, Lastday is what we call... today.”

“So yesterday was Lastday and today is Lastday too? Why not just call it today?”

Daphne covers her mouth and coughs again. “We gave names to the days of the week, and they cycle around. The first day is called Firstday, and the last Lastday. Tomorrow will be the start of a new cycle, so Firstday again, then Secondsday, Thirdsday and so on. Lastday is the seventh.”

That seems needlessly arbitrary. “Okay?”

“Lots of places are closed for business on Lastday,” Daphne explains.

Well, if it means more time to spend with Abigail you won’t complain. “Neat! So there’s more time to play.”

“Exactly,” Daphne says with a grin. She points to a little stall set out on the side of the street, the man behind it wearing a big apron and smiling as he gives people something that smells really yummy. “Let’s grab a bite and I’ll explain the weekdays to you.”

You do just that. The man is selling little bits of meat that are cooking on a magic circle engraved on a steel plate which he shoves into flatbread and folds in a strange way. There are veggies and things too, like sauces that he can add. Abigail and Daphne each get one, and when you’re asked you demand one of each flavour he has.

Abigail negotiates you down to two meat puffs, one with veggies and the other with cheese. It is a good compromise because you earned a headpat from it.

You’re munching along and walking towards home when a question comes to mind. “Hey, Daphne?” you ask up at her.

Abigail sighs and pulls out a napkin to rub your face. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

“Yes Dreamer?” she asks, ignoring Abigail’s silliness.

“When did you meet my Abigail?”

Daphne humms. “We’ve known each other... forever?”

“Pretty much,” Abigail agrees. She bumps shoulders with Daphne and soon their arms are linked.

You are not jealous. One day you too will be tall enough to link arms with Abigail.

“Our mothers were childhood friends,” Daphne explains. “My mother is the Viscountess of Swinehill, which is to the West of here. She married my dad who’s a Baron of a neighbouring region.” She shakes her head. “That doesn’t matter. My mother and Abigail’s met at the Academy, they became close friends and when my mother’s schooling was completed, Abigail’s mother moved close to our estates to work and stay close. They still have tea every evening.”

“We were born a few months apart,” Abigail says then she puffs up in pride. “I’m older.”

“By three months, it hardly counts,” Daphne huffs right back. “But yes, we grew up together, like sisters but... closer.”

“Hrm,” you say before skipping ahead a little. Things are truly unfair if Daphne got to spend all this time with Abigail without you around.