Son of a slave

Seeing them coming up the stairs, Anice stood up and looked down on them with displeasure from the top step. "What took you guys so long?"

"Anne," said Alistar as he and Corrie tactfully turned their heads. "Your skirt."

Noticing the situation, she hurried upstairs and then retreated against the wall as if wanting to stay as far away from them as possible. "Ahem. Forget what you saw."

Alistar approached her with a curious look. "That’s not right. Usually you’d say something like, ’stupid Alie,’ and then hit me before running off."

Corrie nodded, maintaining a wary distance of about six paces from Anice.

"I—it was my fault. Why should I get mad at you two?"

Exchanging a look of skepticism with Alistar, the older boy abruptly excused himself and ran off. Evidently, he far preferred the prospect of examining his new belongings over the idea of tiptoeing around Anice in light of her strange behavior.

"Why did he leave? I wanted to see if you guys would play around in the snow with me."

Seeing the bags beneath her eyes, Alistar felt a sudden surge of guilt. He had been so wrapped up in his own worries lately that he hadn’t paid as much attention to his cousin as he should have been. Looking closely, the fire that usually dwelled within her energetic gaze seemed to have dimmed by a slight degree, hinting that boredom wasn’t the only thing that had her down.

"Why don’t you and I go outside, then?"

Her crimson hair was about level with her breasts, neatly trimmed by an insistent Madeline so that their fringes were perfectly level. Long braids trailed down either side of her face, tied at the ends with silver ribbons where they nestled perfectly within her shiny tresses. Subconsciously twirling one of these braids, she said, "You really want to?"