She could never recall a time in her life where sleep was hard to find. From the time she was a young child until now, she would easily fall asleep the moment her head hit the pillow and would not arise until the sun beamed through her window. In her youth, it became another point of comparison between her and her sister. "Why can't you sleep more like Ada?" Their mother would ask a tired Agatha, who was struggling to keep her eyes open at breakfast, giving the girl yet another thing to be bitter over. As a young girl, Ada remembered trying not to fall asleep in order to prevent the morning squabbles between her mother and sister.
Well tonight, she didn't need to try to fight sleep. It simply wouldn't come.
She had laid there for ages, hands folded across her stomach and eyes set upon the ceiling, hoping that at some point sleep would lull her eyes close.
But that didn't happen.
Almost reluctantly, she drew the sheets away from her and slid her feet into her slippers. Pulling her robe around her, her eyes scanned the room cautiously. She almost had to remind herself that she was headmistress now, not mother, and she was allowed to be out of bed after dark. She chuckled to herself at her own silliness as she departed from her room.
Ada always wondered why Hecate took to pacing the school each night. She merely thought that her Deputy Head would find no comfort until she was absolutely certain that all the girls were where they should be at the proper time. However, as she strolled the corridors of her school, Ada had come to realize just how relaxing this was.
Yet she still wasn't tired.
With each corridor she crossed she was reminded of yet another memory of her sister. Carving their initials into banisters. Giggling over how their instructor actually fell asleep while lecturing on the history of toads, allowing them to escape. Planning pranks of their fellow students. Hiding from mother after one of them had gone wrong. Fighting. Not speaking. Agatha being sent away. Each time she tried to go back to a good memory of the two of them, a bad one slipped into her mind. Finally, when her mind drifted to the time when she and Agatha actually tried to run the school together, Ada decided it was best to clear her mind of all of it. Only to have her mind drift to two different sisters.
Esmerelda and Ethel.
Her heart ached for the two of them more each day. While Esmerelda certainly excelled at every task she set her mind to, Ada knew she struggled. Esmerelda wanted it all—she wanted to do well, please her parents, and be liked by her sister and friends, and Ada feared that the pressure of it all was enough to make the poor girl explode. And poor Ethel—Ada couldn't help but to wonder if she would have behaved the same way Ethel did towards her sister if she grew up knowing her true birth order. The girl had so much promise, so much potential, but was too consumed by the need to be perfect to realize it.
"You're not one to evade sleep."
Ada jumped at the sound of her Deputy Head's voice and turned to face her. Hecate's lips were curved into a small, sympathetic smile and she was still dressed for the day despite the late hour.
"I'm not trying to," Ada responded, giving Hecate a warm smile in return. "I suppose there has been too much excitement these past few days."
"You should really be resting,"
"I'm quite fine."
"You were just," Hecate began, folding her arms at her chest. "You just don't know what the side effects of being in the painting are."
"Neither do you,"
"I wasn't in as—"
"Let's not argue, dear." Ada said.
Hecate's eyes softened. "I'm going down this corridor next," she said, pointing in the direction Ada had been walking in. "Would you care to join?"
"The company would be nice." Ada responded as the two witches began walking.
For a few moments they walked in silence, the only sound being made was that of Hecate's hard-bottomed shoes hitting the ground. "I moved the picture," Hecate said out of the blue.
"What picture?" Ada asked, though she had an idea of what Hecate was talking about.
"Of Agatha and Miss Gullet," she said softly, as though she had been a disobedient child. "I could tell it bothered you to look at it, so I moved it."
"Oh,"
"It's still in the school," she said quickly. "I can bring it back if you'd like—"
"That's not necessary," Ada responded warmly. "I appreciate you doing that."
Hecate looked as though she didn't believe her, but it was the truth. "It'll be nice not having it sitting in my office," Ada added, smiling.
Hecate didn't smile back, though Ada wasn't surprised. Smiles from Hecate were not easy to come by, though Ada had noticed that Hecate smiled far more now than she did twenty years ago when she first arrived at Cackles for her interview. She was a tough shell to crack, but Ada had always been determined to get past her cold exterior. She had made good progress, Ada thought to herself, noting that Hecate wasn't nearly as cold as she had been when she first arrived. She may seem unapproachable to some, but Ada had known the woman was special. She just needed a consistent force of good in her life, and Ada was determined to be that force.
"Do you have siblings?" She found herself asking. Even after twenty years, there was so much Ada did not know about her Deputy. She had known that Hecate's parents had died young and that she was raised by an aunt, but not much else.
"No," Hecate responded after a few moments of silence.
"Well, your aunt," Ada began as Hecate cringed (all Hecate would ever say about her aunt was that she was not a kind woman). "Did she have children? Did you grow up with cousins?"
"She wasn't actually my aunt." Hecate responded. She must have suspected Ada's confusion, for she quickly added: "she was some sort of friend of my family, I didn't have any blood relation left. She didn't have children of her own, and she only looked after me."
What a lonely life! Ada's heart sank as she looked at Hecate, who seemed unfazed. It explained so much about Hecate and her ways. Ada respected and cared for Hecate the way she was, but she couldn't help but to wonder what the woman would be like had she lived a different childhood. "Wasn't it lonely?"
Hecate shrugged. "I suppose it was," she responded, a small smile growing on her lips. "Though after all of this commotion, I suppose I'm not envious of those who have siblings."