~ INDEFINITE HIATUS ~
NOTE: This is a very old story! I will no longer be updating it as I have lost interest in the writing, but I won't be deleting it just yet.
lim • er • ence ( n )
the state of being infatuated with another person, typically ex...
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CHAPTER TWO ✿
✿ The Creswell Girl and the Salemer Boy
✿✿✿
When Lia returned home unknowingly wearing a light smile, the apartment was thankfully void of its usual brooding shadow of a father; only Ann seemed to be home, crafting a luncheon for the teen and singing something softly in Gaelic. Colorful vegetables and grains of rice spiraled around the stove where she stood, and the teen inhaled the smell of cooking food.
Just as it occurred to her that Ann would inquire details of her morning, and she had begun to step quietly to her room, the short-and-thin woman called without turning her head, "Missy, where do you think you're going while I'm making you such a lovely little lunch here?"
Lia could feel Ann smirking as the maid spoke through her thick Irish accent. She shook her head slightly and draped her coat on one of the ornate hooks by the door. "Why would I abandon such a feast produced by my responsible maid?" she sassed in false sweetness.
"I willingly work for your family, Miss Creswell, but you haven't scared me off yet," Ann returned, motioning for her to come over and sit down. Lia made a face and entered the open kitchen, sidling into a chair aside a mahogany dining table.
The meal of toasted golden rice and crisped vegetables floated with the direction of Ann's dark wand and swirled into a porcelain plate, then settled in front of Lia with shining silverware and a glass of water. The teen, realising how hungry she was, thanked Ann and began eating voraciously.
Ann's head of twisted burnt-red curls settled into the seat across Lia, and she rested her chin comfortably in her hand. With a flick of her wand, the kitchen began to clean itself meticulously; pans, dishes, and utensils ran themselves through suds and water, and soaked rags wiped away any remaining mess.
With a purse of her thin lips, Ann finally inquired, "So, missy, how was your morning, if I may ask?" Her tone was playful, as if she knew something was amiss.
Lia looked away, but turned back with a knowing grin. "It was fine, Ann." She brushed back the fallen strands of her air and pushed back an empty plate. "I just stopped and saw Grandpa, not much else."
Ann arched a brow. "'Not much?'"
Lia gave her a hard look. It was not uncommon for Ann to be so questioning, but on occasion, the maid got a little too protective of her blonde duckling. The teen grimaced in remembrance of a particular day, one where she had been made fun of around age eleven. When Ann had tried to console her, Lia had screeched through her tears that the maid was not her mother, nor would she make up for one.
That was what made Ann particularly special. She did not leave like any maid would when approached by difficulty. She was stubborn as an ox, but had enough heart to bend, if given the right persuading. Ann wasn't just a maid.
