Reflections Of Angels

Playing On Her Mind

The notebook was playing on Nyx's mind.

Answers. He has answers. They're in the notebook. You don't know the answers. What you want is in that notebook.

This worm of curiosity whispering in her ear from the moment she awoke that morning, it had only grown and crept deeper and deeper as she had gone about her morning.

It had actually been quite nice; she and him had awoken together in the same bed, her likely having gotten there after she had drifted off in his study armchair as both were in the clothes they had been wearing the night before; Nyx tucked up gently under the blankets and him laying beside her on top, almost as if he hadn't meant to fall asleep there, face turned towards her and hand outstretched, resting lightly on her middle.

Blinking his eyes open and giving a slight, sleep-addled smile, Nyx realised he looked so much better after sleeping, so much healthier, and wondered when really the last time was that he had let himself rest.

Notebook. Notebook. The answers are in the notebook. Why won't he let you read that notebook? You need to see that notebook.

Now they were downstairs, Grizelda awake and with them, sitting up in her high chair, silently surveying her domain. He'd grabbed some toast, and then a thought had struck him; Nyx had seen it in his eyes before he even spoke, and then he disappeared back upstairs.
Nyx frowned in annoyance at his retreating form. As she served up Grizelda's food, the cherub-curled little girl's dark eyes bored into her soul as she gnashed her gums in anticipation, pointed fingernails carving deep into the tray of her highchair. A shiver ran down Nyx's spine and once again she was cast back to all the strange happenings of the evening before.

She had to find out what was in that notebook.