Time. Truth. Hearts.

It was the day before halloween.

Rosa woke up early to prepare breakfast. To prepare meant she had to use her mouth to either shout commands to the house’s servants or whisper poisonous snides. Either way, she got the job done for her. Whatever she normally asked for, she asked to be increased by a hundred percent.

She would watch by the counter, much like an umpire. Only umpires normally didn’t resort to the threat of physical pain to make the players play good. Through the window, a generous helping of the sun’s rays would get in, seemingly acting as a spotlight to bask Rosa and her natural elegance in golden splendor.

When all was cooked well and she was satisfied with the consistency of the orange juice, she would exit the kitchen and head up to her daughter’s room, Maria, who in turn would have already been pretending to be asleep for almost thirty minutes. From an outside perspective, the scenario would have been the cause for several brows to to be raised and for a few cackles to be shared. As daft as it was, the daughter was waiting, pretending to be asleep, for her mother to wake her up.

Rosa would not knock. The one winged emblem she wore gave her the privilege or excuse not to do so. She would sit on the bed by her daughter and gently stroke her hair to wake her up. If she had been paying attention for even just a week, she would have noticed that Maria always woke up after the seventh stroke.

Rosa would gently say, “Maria, breakfast is ready.”

Maria would always respond by uttering in a long steady wail, “Oooooh.”

Rosa would then smile, amused by her daughter’s unique idiosyncracies. Together, holding hands, they would go down and eat. They always sat on opposite sides. Rosa, facing the window and therefore the sun, and Maria, a small sillhouette against it. While eating breakfast, while Maria was scribbling on her notebook she would never let anyone see, Rosa asked, “It’s Halloween tomorrow, my love. What do you intend to dress up as?”

Maria didn’t immediately answer. She just continued scribbling as though it was a matter comparable to closing a billion dollar deal. When she finally stopped, she raised her face just an inch so that her face was still bathed in darkness.

Maria sniggered.

Just outside the windows, a swarm of golden butterflies converged to give birth to Maria and Rosa’s second names.