My Cardboard Balcony

The Apprentice Sat Sleeping by Belinda Roddie The apprentice sat sleeping all through the month of November, little furry leaves collecting all around his bare ankles and frosting his toenails in autumn's weave. The mage returned in winter, pearly white from blizzard's conversation in the wood. She frowned, taking time to slowly recite the incantation, wind caught where she stood. The apprentice stirred somewhat, blinking dreams away from his eyes, stretching, yawning quite loudly, and then squeaked as his calm, pristine teacher tapped her foot impatiently. "Right," she said, "remind me never to let you try that spell again. I'd be sleeping, too!"

Heather took three tiny steps from her bed, then three more tiny steps toward the door. She heard three tiny scratches against the wooden frame. Always threes with her. She waited for synchronized rattling, harsh breathing, coming out in tripulets and triads like violently suffocated music. She pushed her polished fingers into the knob but didn't turn it. Three tiny breaths. Three tiny steps. But not from her. From outside.