Adrienne

As dawn spreads her color across the heavens, sleep does flee from the eyes of the anxious. Adrienne sits up in bed, pushing back the steel gray quilt as she does so. She stretches, casting off the last of slumber's reigns. Instantly feeling the nip of a mid-autumn's chill wash over her skin, the quilt soon finds it's way back beneath her chin. She shivers, in the morning's cold air, in anticipation of the day's events

Clutching the cover tight around her shoulders, Adrienne stands and approaches the large redwood wardrobe. Pulling forth the heavy door, she takes a step back and surveys the day's options. Meeting her weary eyes is an array of fabrics and hues, but none inspire her. None extends such an aura that captures her desire. With a heavy sigh of desperation, she reaches into the colored depths and hesitantly picks an outfit deemed suitable for the occasion. In a somber stupor, she discards the woolen quilt and feels the cool air's ambush before it even hits the floor. This only quickens her actions as she lays each garment over her bed and prepares to dress.

Adrienne nods in acceptance at the ensemble which is now arranged over her pale sheets. Driven equally by the chill and a desire to be clad and ready to leave, she fingers the light cotton of a chosen blouse. Lifting the forest green material, she pulls it over her head. Adrienne sits on the side of the bed and a heavy skirt, the same color, but of a more solid design, is drawn carefully over her ankles, narrowing avoiding the oft-ignored patches of dust which blanket the floor. When she stands again, it falls gracefully to rest just above the bare wood.

Grabbing and quickly donning a black cardigan jacket, Adrienne pauses to stand in front of the large mirror which hangs from the back of her door. She nods, pleased with the outfit and the added class of the unbuttoned sweater. Reaching over onto a bedside table, she picks up a wooden hairbrush. Serenely, the fine bristles are pulled through her raven tresses, and she makes eye contact with only her reflection. It is as though the act of brushing is merely the habit of a young woman with too often idle hands. Her stare is intent and unwavering, a lengthy glimpse into the confines of her own soul.

The arm of gravity finally unravels the knot of satin cord which had held the thick curtains in place. Sunlight snakes its way through the rather ill-placed window. It strikes the surface of the looking glass and the glare forces Adrienne from her spell. The brush slips through her already uncertain fingers to strike the floor, but strangely enough, she pays the clatter little mind. Dark and silken locks fall smooth around her shoulders, a single unkempt strand softly tickling her forehead. Thin, yet naturally rose-tinged lips smile a secret, knowing, smile before this expression once again fades into obscurity, its replacement blank and sullen, an unseen shadow cast in a room now drenched with sun.

Stepping back slightly, Adrienne swings the door toward her, not bothering to cringe as the wood strikes the wall in a fit of noise and trembling. She leaves this portal open as she passes through. Scurrying sounds of movement rise from the floor below and an echo ascends the circular staircase, the last evidence of a single, muffled call. " 'drienne…"

Adrienne frowns in an initial reply. "Mother?" Holding the hem of her skirt a few cautious centimeters from the dim and dusty planks of the landing, she takes the first step in her venture down the stairs. Bare feet gather grime as they traverse the cool wood. After a few steps, when the silence begins to make itself known, heavy upon the shoulders of the young woman, she repeats her cry. "Mother?"

"Adrienne, is that you?" Embracing her lack of footwear, Adrienne bounds down the remainder of the staircase, stopping short at the base. She can see a face peering inquisitively from just beyond the next room and the beginnings of what she knows to be a graying braid cascading toward the waist of a woman past her prime.

"Of course it is, Mother. Who else would be upstairs, moving around in my room?" Adrienne offers a taut smile to accent her words. Approaching the room where her mother currently stands bothers not to shrug at the lack of an answer. The kitchen is filled with a dull, yet pleasantly spicy scent. Pots lay, scattered from where they seem to have fallen off their shelves. "Did you need something?"

The older woman shakes her head, a pair of wearied and jaded eyes focusing on her daughter. "I was just wondering why you would be up so early… and without even needing me to call you. It isn't routine…" From the chaos, she extracts a large metal kettle, quaintly pleased by the find. "I've been looking for you." She turns to Adrienne. "Would you care for some tea?"