Ila tucks Milana into her velvet, burgundy crib as thoughts of breakfast pace through her mind. She skips into the echoing kitchen of her stepdad’s house, smiling at the white sliver of the moon peeking through the crisp curtains.
“Ready for Schooling?”, her mom asks.
“Yes, I’m going to put on my shoes.”, Ila replies.
“Well, you best hurry up, I got a complaint the other day.”
Ila runs out of the house, into the cold and comforting streets of Brelan. She presses her nose against the jawlines of all sharing the ride with her. Once she arrives to Schooling, Ila happily attends her classes.
In Hunting, she has to deal with the demeaning and superficial glares of the Olders, they still haven’t let her use the tools, she can only react and aim. It is okay, though, she has Communications next, in which she gets to smile and cry and learn about people. That is what she loves best about the class, Sir Luma especially, that he makes sure it is known and okay to be uncomfortable. On Tuesdays, her stomach excitedly flutters to attend class and grieve over matters which weren’t hers. On Sundays the neighboring Sirs and Madams complain about the endless cackles coming from room 1407. This room makes her content.
Following the turns weaving her through the large black halls of Schooling, Ila glances at the wall-sized, black clock only to realize that it is actually time for Feast.
She quietly sits as the people around her feast on the newest vulture wing specialty at the Feast. Ila doesn’t like vultures, she looks forward to the anteater fried bits they receive on Saturdays.
The clock roars at 3:00, and everyone files out on to their rides home. The girl next to Ila had hair in the newest shade of black. The girl’s eyes are curved and held together by the edge of her nose.
Before entering her home, Ila realizes it is 3:09 now, and immediately lifts and fastens her hair with a band.
She usually makes it a minute earlier.
At least it wasn’t past 3:10.
In the dining hall, she notices her mother wearing a band in a deeper shade of red around her hair today. Father has his bracelets around his feet.
All is how it was supposed to be.
Milana comes to play with Ila in her room, and Ila put her toys away. She pulls out the silver and golden tinted daggers she had bought for Milana’s previous birthday.
“You’re never going to get over these guys, are you?”, Ila asks.
“Obviously not.”, Milana responds.
Two hours later, Milana crawls out of the room laughing. Ila dabs the cut which now accompanies the many others resting on her collarbone. She runs after Milana shouting, “Come back here! Cleaning up is our favorite part.”.
She places Milana on the counter in her room as she wipes and stings her giggling sister with ointments and bandages. As they walk downstairs her mother scoffs, “Thrice in a week? You girls are something.”. Ila smiles back, but immediately observes the changing shade of blue in the sky. Her father follows her eyes through the Realization and nods at all of them in the room. The velvet curtains are adjusted, the clattering of the enormous plates begin. She helps her mother turn them downwards.
Ilana places herself in the bed and turns to the side where her window is not.
When the moon starts to fade, so does her she.