Room 302 [Wednesday afternoon]
Celia had had a letter today. It had been so easy, up to this point, to forget she even had a father, much less one who might write to her on occasion. It had been boring, mostly -- tales of where he'd been, though the postmark had a very clear "PITTSBURGH" on the envelope. It was the last paragraph that did her in, though.
I do hope you haven't neglected your studies. I have yet to regret sending you to that school, but any backslide in your progress will leave me no choice but to bring you home and continue your tutoring here.
You need practice. Stop thinking that you don't.
Celia wished she had a fireplace into which to throw the stupid scrap of paper. She stared at it hard, willing it to just burst into flames on its own. She could feel the prickling at the back of her neck that usually occurred when something nearby was about to shatter because of her. She braced herself for the window's crash.
...and when nothing happened, she remembered that she had been practicing here. And she remembered exactly, what, she'd learned. So in spite of how painfully, profoundly angry she was, Celia did not lose control of her powers.
Or, at least, not how she usually did.
She'd made the letter into a little bird mostly to be rid of it. Then she'd made another. Soon, she'd used up nearly all the paper on her desk, and her bed was covered in tiny paper birds. It was quite soothing, using her gifts this way. Idly, she turned them colors, shaping them larger and smaller and changing the texture of the paper.
She was practicing. See?
[totally open door and post!]
I do hope you haven't neglected your studies. I have yet to regret sending you to that school, but any backslide in your progress will leave me no choice but to bring you home and continue your tutoring here.
You need practice. Stop thinking that you don't.
Celia wished she had a fireplace into which to throw the stupid scrap of paper. She stared at it hard, willing it to just burst into flames on its own. She could feel the prickling at the back of her neck that usually occurred when something nearby was about to shatter because of her. She braced herself for the window's crash.
...and when nothing happened, she remembered that she had been practicing here. And she remembered exactly, what, she'd learned. So in spite of how painfully, profoundly angry she was, Celia did not lose control of her powers.
Or, at least, not how she usually did.
She'd made the letter into a little bird mostly to be rid of it. Then she'd made another. Soon, she'd used up nearly all the paper on her desk, and her bed was covered in tiny paper birds. It was quite soothing, using her gifts this way. Idly, she turned them colors, shaping them larger and smaller and changing the texture of the paper.
She was practicing. See?
[totally open door and post!]