Rosabelle climbed the snaking metal staircase to the fourth floor. The elevator had been broken, and the doorman downstairs was soon to be broken as well if his stuttering and apologizing were anything to go by once Rosabelle had set one of her infamous glares on him. She left him be. The tenants here likely spent a large lump sum each month for rent, Rosabelle expected the elevator, and everything else in the building, to be in tip-top shape. For something like that not to work, Rosabelle would have demanded a reduction in this month’s amenities. However, this was not her living space. She was only visiting a close friend while in town. Deciding to put the elevator issue aside, Rosabelle focused on the golden plaques to the left of each door. She searched for 1408.
A rosy blush bloomed when she realized she had been going the wrong way. Twenty-five years old and her sense of direction was little better than when she was five-years-old. She found 1408 at the end of the carpeted hallway. Her steps were muffled as she passed uniform black doors and large glass windows drizzled in the rain and spectacled in amber light overlooking the twinkling city of Seattle and its little people.
Outside of 1408, Rosabelle adjusted her appearance. She fiddled with her skirt, smoothed down any creases on her shirt and played with her hair. Simply, Rosabelle had always been taught to put her best foot forward and part of that was making sure that when she met anyone, friend or acquaintance, she looked her best. Her grandmother liked to remind her there were no second impressions. When Rosabelle was ready to knock, her phone rang.
Grumbling, she dug through her purse to find her phone. Anyone from the outside could see how she transformed in half of a second. The frown that looked at home on her face had fled and in its place was a soft curve on her glossy lips. She half turned, taking steps away from the door, bag sliding on her thin arm, as she approached the nearest window. In what could only be described as baby talk, short sentences and an exaggerated high pitch, Rosabelle spoke to her daughter briefly about her nighttime routine rounding it off with perky goodnight and a kiss to the phone, of which her daughter returned. When the phone call ended, there was a dull ache inside Rosabelle. She simply stared at her phone, her screensaver, a picture of her and Harry at the beach. She would never admit it, but she missed her baby girl and she hated to be away from her. It made Rosabelle want to apparate back home and do something ridiculous, like watch her Harry sleep to make sure she was safe from the monsters she had started to imagine and the very real monsters Rosabelle had discovered.
You’ll see her soon enough, get a grip.
Rosabelle focused, she knocked on the door of 1408. A broader smile replaced the soft curve when the door opened, keeping her frown at bay. She was here to visit and to catch up with a friend of her’s.
TAG RAFE WILKINSON