Chat With Quilla

From the depths of a dream, I heard someone pounding on the door.

"Come in," I mumbled out of habit before remembering where I was.

Quicker than I usually move, I went over to my robe and threw it on, opening the door. A swift glance at the old-fashioned grandfather clock revealed it was late morning.

In the doorway stood Quilla.

Hands on her hips, she tapped her foot impatiently.

She wore a dress the color of an eggplant, a bright red painter's hat, spotted blue tights, and pointy black boots.

Before I could say anything sarcastic, she walked past me into my room.

"Why didn't you use magic to open the door? Not that I'm complaining. Stupid allergies. But Polonias is a world full of it. No one cares whether you use it or not. In fact, they expect you to." She whirled around the room like a bird who drank too much coffee.

"You were just being polite, weren't you?" She sighed before plopping down on my bed, bouncing several times. "Cozy." Then she gave me a once-over.