Milliways Bar, November 19
It's warm and comfortable and cozy over by the fireplace this evening. Bar was kind enough to produce a low cradle for Susan, which Amy is rocking with one foot, murmuring a light, dreamy lullaby while she does.
Susan watches with bright blue eyes that Amy doesn't think are ever going to close, before she blinks . . . and then blinks again . . . and finally drifts off to sleep.
Amy has brought a small stack of invitations and letters and assorted correspondence she's supposed to be answering, and she starts to sort through it, to accept, to decline, to reply, to . . . surely it won't matter if she closes her eyes, just for a moment.
Just for a moment.
Or two.
Susan watches with bright blue eyes that Amy doesn't think are ever going to close, before she blinks . . . and then blinks again . . . and finally drifts off to sleep.
Amy has brought a small stack of invitations and letters and assorted correspondence she's supposed to be answering, and she starts to sort through it, to accept, to decline, to reply, to . . . surely it won't matter if she closes her eyes, just for a moment.
Just for a moment.
Or two.