January 3rd, 1890 - Goshawk Household
Christmas was over and things felt as if they were beginning to return to normal – as normal as it ever got in the Goshawk household, at least – and Saxon was minding his own business meandering about the house. His mother and step-Satan were in their small garden drinking tea and Saxon didn’t know where everyone else was.
Running his hand across the wall as he trundled absent-mindedly into the kitchen, Saxon turned his head upward to nothing, stopping in front of one of the counters where there laid a small plate with one of Saxon’s favourite foods.
“Might I have a mince pie?” He asked the air. He then paused for a moment and nodded his head as if someone was talking to him before turning back to the counter and reaching to grab one, “I’m only going to have one,” Saxon continued and nodded with assurance at his words.
Just as he reached over and took one, he heard a noise in the kitchen and turned to see her. Ugh. Maxima. For some unknown reason, she always seemed to have it out for Saxon and he wasn’t sure why. But he knew better than to try and annoy her; she’d probably sooner hex him for breathing funny than taking a mince pie and not asking mother or step-Demon so he was going to nip that right in the bud.
“I asked father and he said it was okay,” He said with furrowed brows and a glare, hand still firmly wrapped around the pie.
Running his hand across the wall as he trundled absent-mindedly into the kitchen, Saxon turned his head upward to nothing, stopping in front of one of the counters where there laid a small plate with one of Saxon’s favourite foods.
“Might I have a mince pie?” He asked the air. He then paused for a moment and nodded his head as if someone was talking to him before turning back to the counter and reaching to grab one, “I’m only going to have one,” Saxon continued and nodded with assurance at his words.
Just as he reached over and took one, he heard a noise in the kitchen and turned to see her. Ugh. Maxima. For some unknown reason, she always seemed to have it out for Saxon and he wasn’t sure why. But he knew better than to try and annoy her; she’d probably sooner hex him for breathing funny than taking a mince pie and not asking mother or step-Demon so he was going to nip that right in the bud.
“I asked father and he said it was okay,” He said with furrowed brows and a glare, hand still firmly wrapped around the pie.