Call your mother!

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Sandra Ishviel POV...

Sitting up from the bed, I look out the window whilst gripping the covers. Thomas is still in bed, being in house arrest since the incident. Side note, he's also been sleeping in a lot more... I haven't seen him like this since we were still in our teens.

I consider getting up and getting dressed, but I wanna take my time. It's been so long since I just slept in with the man I love.

Still looking out the window, I spot the wicked bi... I mean, witch who stalks my husband asleep on a branch. Her white robe sticking out like a sore thumb in the tree, her blue hair not helping her be sneaky in the slightest.

I haven't been able to drive her off yet, but she's been so scared ever since Thomas got hurt that she rarely leaves. Of course, I don't want the homewrecker here, but I still think it's fine if she keeps a minimum distance of like... 40 feet.

I know that Thomas would never cheat, but I also know her. They call them witches for a reason.

I sigh before rolling over and standing up, walking my way to the dresser. I pick out a white dress, one reminiscent of my younger years. Ah, the joys of being young and free. I change into the dress relatively fast, picking up the laundry basket and beginning to walk downstairs.

I look upon a few family portraits from when Arthur was sick, one that was from before he was sick sticking out to me. Oh my... he looks so cute with his dimples. I miss him so much...

I trace the ridges of my own pointy ears, the only noticeable sign of my elven blood, before tucking them behind my hair. It's a habit I picked up from when I was a transfer student, back when elven discrimination was extremely pronounced.

To think all of that was so long ago...

Regardless of the past, I move on with the present. I finish going down the stairs, walking through the main room and past the dining table. For a moment, I ponder taking the bottle of wine at the table with me, reconsidering a second later, only to relent and bring it with me anyways.

Even if I don't need to use it as a crutch anymore, I still like the taste. 

Stepping out the door, I set the laundry basket down and sit on the grass next to my tub and washing board. Since there's already water in the tub, I cast a small ball of blue flame before casting it into the water, making sure to pull back my hand before the steam can sear it.

I wait a minute, waiting for the water to cool enough to be comfortable touching it. When it does, I pick up the first article of clothing alongside my bar of hand soap. I dip both into the water, first simply soaking the shirt and then scrubbing it by hand.

If only we could automate the process with some sort of... machine for washing.

Either way, there's something undeniably peaceful about scrubbing the clothes by hand. I can hear the birds chirping in the background as my hands are submerged in warm soapy water, the sun lightly beaming down upon me yet remembering to not be overbearing.

It's a perfect day now, but in some time winter will be here. I have nothing against winter, I just simply prefer the warmer times. Winter is just an excuse to cuddle that much closer to Thomas, after all.

A small smile overtakes my face as I look down in the water, my own face reflecting in its image. Even without the reflection, I can tell that she's behind me... she's never subtle.

I watch as her face in the reflection looks from me to the bottle of wine, a look of distaste coming into view. She finds every second in the day available to hate me.

"Wine? At this time of day?" She questions, circling around me and sitting across from me with the washing bin between us.

"Just a little," I say, not even looking up from the tub. I refuse to give this damnable woman a single inch, lest she attempt to take a mile. "But you know you have no room to talk, Clara. I've seen you scrounging around our trash at night..."

For a moment, I consider stooping to her level and calling her a wench, but I don't. I'm better, likely far happier than a woman who's been single her whole life.

"Why did you accept Arthur as your disciple if you were just gonna stay here all the time? It feels a little misleading to do that, no?"

"Well, I was planning to, but I accidentally scared him off in the first week and... after he went comatose, I thought I failed him," Damnit, an answer that makes sense and is good! Just let me hate you more! "Every time since then that I've talked with him, I've just felt like he couldn't trust me because-"

"You're irresponsible," I interrupt her before she can continue. I'm no therapist, this woman is my rival! Please, PLEASE be hurt by that!

"Yeah, basically..." Her response kills any momentum I had, a downtrodden mutter as she looks at her knees. It's clear she's hurt, but not because of me. "I talk all about how great and mighty I am and then I just immediately fail to protect him from something entirely avoidable. He went into a coma and it was all my fault for not teaching him... or even watching him, for that matter. I don't think I've ever handled a situation right..."

For a moment, I ponder insulting her like every defensive wife and mother should, but I don't. In the end, we're both human and deserving of kindness.

"That's true, but you have to learn instead of just letting yourself stagnate. If you just sit there and wallow about it, then you'll never make progress in anything," I lean back, taking my hands out of the washing bin before letting go of the shirt and soap. "If you think you can't do anything right, then you're completely right. Shake yourself out of that mopey mindset before teaching my son, I don't want it transferring onto him."

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