Thread: Such A Nonsensical Thing, Little Girls (PocketFullOfPosies)

Do I suppose that mice mothers... ... finishing school? He blinked. Back turned to her, Simon blinked, his eyes narrowed, his head tilted to one side in thought. What a peculiar question. He thought to reprimand her for changing the subject, but she had called him Uncle Simon. That brought forth a smile, thinking about it. So maybe she remembered after all? Or, at least, she was willing to accept him as they built something new. But later. What exactly was she talking about? Lydia? he asked. And waited. I'm sorry, but can you ask me that again? I don't believe heard you right. Lydia? ...Lydia? He had a feeling. Before he even turned Simon closed his eyes, took a long breath and sighed. Lydia Rose, he breathed, opening them to see her quite positively not there. Not at the piano. Not on top of it. Not beneath. Not behind. A strong, quick stride took him to the large open box whose contents consisted of its own brown bottom. She was resisting it. Of course. Nobody wanted to be made to change. Did they, and his services would largely be unnecessary. He should have expected this, Simon's mind was quick to chide him. He had let his guard down. Mentally he had allowed himself to wind down, expecting time alone to write instead of having to deal with another patient. And what of his mind was still on that professional track had been blinded by their blood relation, by the fact that he knew this girl since she was a bump in her mother's stomach and he wanted to believe she wasn't going to make his life difficult. Green mistakes, his mind rang over and over. Not irreversible ones, not very big deals, but he should have been sharper than this! No use dwelling on it now. Miranda? he called out, striding out of the office at a brisk pace. How far could she have gone? Where would she, was the more apt question. Simon's head whipped left. It whipped right. Brows narrowing, he called out again, Miranda, walking steadily down the foyer, past the stairs, and down an adjacent hallway. She took the clothes with her. To hide them? To destroy them? Simon's booted steps clicked against the floor with the weight of each heavy footfall. Stopping just long enough to lean his head into the den as he passed by, he glanced at the fireplace, noting no sign of her, the clothes, or any attempt of use. So she wasn't burning them. Hiding them? Hiding herself? Mir- Yes, Sir? came a hurried voice, the thirty-something reddish-brown haired woman called out quickly, coming from the other end of the hallway. I am here! Lydia has- escaped? gotten away? She'd like to imagine such horrid words, he was sure. -disappeared. Have you seen her? Not since I sent her to see you, Sir! Did she not speak to you? 'Yes, she did. Briefly. Have you seen her since? Just now? Why, no Sir, I- She took some clothes with her. Did you see those? No, Sir. ...Hm. His lips twisted to a side. I'm going to check outside. Go take a look in her room, see if she isn't searching for any of the items you confiscated - that is taken care of, is it not? Yes, Sir, just now. I set them all aside like you asked me to. Good, good. Check her room. If she isn't there then go through the rest of the house. Rooms. Bathrooms. Closets. This... This was an annoyance, nothing more. And this was temporary. If his niece thought she was safe for long, if she thought this was going to be a repeat performance past this day, she would soon have another thing coming.