It was early. Not even the first traces of the sun had come to peek over the horizon that was obscured by a long line of lush trees. A young woman padded down the hall, clad in a long, green dressing gown, tied around her slender form by a thin strip of orange cotton. Despite her padding, the cool, contracted boards of the floor creaked with each of her light footsteps, creating a sparse sound in the blanket of silence.
The corridors of the house were long and old. Originally, the walls were adorned with intricately designed wallpaper which, in their newest gloss bore a trailing design of lotus flowers as they would have appeared on any traditional canvas painting. The boards set in the floor were once polished to a deep brown that shone after the application of layer after layer of lacquer. Now, the halls were dilapidated and old, showing years of existence without any care to maintain their grandeur. The wallpaper was faded and peeling, a multitude of minute cracks drawing their way across the walls like a second design of the paper. The boards also showed their age, having been traipsed across many times without their lacquer renewed. These days, they were rough under the soles of the woman's feet, threatening to splinter the soft, un-calloused flesh, but she was preoccupied with her own thoughts, a mischievous smile playing upon her thin, pink lips. She had a surprise in store.
Slowly and softly rounding a corner, so as not to disturb the other creatures and people that were still sleeping, the dark haired woman found herself in a room very familiar to her. Before an open window was a steel sink fixed into a kitchen counter, its usual galvanised shine dull in the lightless room. A soft breeze blew through the small opening, disturbing the filmy curtain which hung over it, filling the room with the crisp morning air. There was the pattering of bare feet upon linoleum as the woman flitted around the room. Wood scraped upon wood as several different cupboards were quickly opened, their contents sorted through with equal haste.
The young woman's round, dark eyes widened further as a miscalculation caused an abrupt clanging of pots against pans. She held her breath for a moment listening to the echo of the crash slowly ebb away into nothingness. Her stillness held for a moment longer, listening for any stirrings from the rooms concealed above her head. Nothing; the surprise would not be ruined. Exhaling quickly, she set back about her task with an added level of attention.
The pots were arranged upon the stove, different ingredients placed within them. Fetching the matches from the drawer, she withdrew one of the red headed sticks, rubbing the thin piece of wood between her fingertips. Lighting it, she reached over the saucepans to turn the greasy knob that released the gas. There was a yelp as she dropped the spent match suddenly. She'd held it too long and burnt her fingers; that was the price of love.
It had not taken her long to finish preparations and leave various pots simmering upon the stove. Rather than pausing to rest her tired limbs, the woman lay fresh dishes upon the table, their shuriken design glinting as more light filtered through the gauzy curtains. After adding a final touch, a new pair of chopsticks, she carefully set to serving the rice, steamed fish and fresh miso with the little mushrooms she knew he loved so much. Judging by the stir coming from the floor above her timing was perfect; it seemed her son was waking.
She was just concealing the dirty dishes when his pattering footfalls upon the stairs reached her ears. Scurrying down the hall to return to her bed, she did not even pause to see her young son's expression upon his discovery of breakfast; what if she was spotted? Slumping onto her unmade bed, the dutiful mother quickly drifted beneath sleep's warm blanket, smiling as she heard her son's exclamation of pleasant surprise, knowing it would be the first of many.
It was early. Not even the first traces of the sun had come to peek over the limitless horizon that was obscured by a long line of lush trees. As a tall youth padded down the stairs clad in a green body suit, there was no warm smell wafting on a trail of fresh steam to greet him. Barely feeling the splinters of the worn boards beneath his calloused feet, nor hearing their creaks of protest under his weight, the dark haired boy rounded a crumbling corner. As he looked from the open doorway into the kitchen, he could see that the table was bare.