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CHAPTER SIX A Practical Arrangement
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THE THING ABOUT Rhiannon: she didn't get the deal with mornings.
The sky was a painting incarnate and beautiful to look at, sure, but she couldn't possibly be expected to function at such early hours in the day. If you were to ask her, mornings were only made better by the promise of food or presents, like on birthdays or Christmas. A select few thrived at being productive at the crack of dawn, but she wasn't one of them. Add this to the fact that she was a messy sleeper. And when her alarm clock disrupted the peace within her bedroom that morning, she let out a low growl from beneath the covers, where she was lying with her wild hair, feeling like the embodiment of death itself.
Her hand emerged, aimlessly swatting around the nightstand. She missed her clock the first few times and the string of complaints grew louder, until her head finally lifted. She shoved her hair away from her face, tasting remnants of her flower-scented shampoo.
But when she smacked the clock, her lips twisting into a scowl, she underestimated her strength and shattered it to pieces. The noise startled Salem from his spot at the edge of the bed, and he fell over with outstretched limbs.
At least the ringing stopped.
"Sorry, Salem," she muttered. He glared bitterly in response. She shoved the broken clock under her bed, then burrowed herself beneath the sheets.
"Rhiannon, honey, you're gonna be late for school!" The door burst open as Heather walked into the room, all dark and cold like a cave that hadn't been discovered. "Where are those earrings you stole from me?"
"Which ones?"
"The cute studs."
"I didn't steal anything," Rhiannon said, eyes still shut. "I'm an angel."
"Here they are, but nice try." Heather ignored her protests as she lifted the earrings from the jewelry box on the vanity. She was wearing a pink bathrobe, her hair twisted into rollers. People always said her mom was beautiful. In another world, one where she hadn't chosen a profession in healthcare, she might've been a runway model.
