May 19, 1889 — Devine house, Wellingtonshire
The room had been set aside to be a nursery when she had moved into the house as mistress, but it had been a year of marriage so far and they had no need of it. The walls were painted pastel green, a color that reminded Ophelia a little bit of the Black Lake when one picked up just a handful of water. She'd always expected that they could repaint as soon as the baby was born, in the appropriate color for either a boy or a girl. They hadn't decorated it, either, or really furnished it much — all things Ophelia had thought she would enjoy spending her energies on when she was actually pregnant, but had little desire to do beforehand. As a result it had been something of a blank canvas when they had sent in the note volunteering to foster one of the previously-transfigured children. She'd had to send servants out to acquire the bare necessities, either through purchase or from storage in the magically-enlarged closet downstairs
The result was a bit eclectic; the bed was too large for a child of his age, and made up with blankets that seemed too thick and heavy in her opinion. The little table and chair that had been placed in the corner for him seemed laughably small by comparison. There were clothes, but she hadn't much idea how big a five-year-old would be, so she'd bought them in a variety of sizes, hoping something would fit. The closet in the room was positively packed with shirts and trousers, hung by size the way they were in stores.
And what toys would he want? What books? She'd collected a small assortment, but she didn't know whether anything was appropriate. She was having the strangest difficulty remembering what she herself had been like at that age. Had she even had toys? Or had she and her siblings just run around the farm with the magical creatures, like wild things? Would he want any of the toys she'd placed in the room, or would he prefer to go outside? Or would he have some strange desires that she had never experienced? She was inviting a child into her home, but she may as well have been inviting an alien in for all she expected to have in common with him.
He had been delivered by a representative from the Ministry, and she had shown him to the room that was to be his immediately.
"I hope you like it," she said tentatively, watching him for any sign of either approval or disappointment. "I'm not sure what you're used to. It's a bit bland now, but we can get more things... when we know what you'll want," she finished a bit uncertainly.
Loren Bilton
