Wendy rounds the top of the stairs, and heads for Ingrid's room. She finds the door slightly ajar, and pushes it open.
"Ingrid?" She calls out. She receives no response. Both Joanna, and Freya are already downstairs for breakfast. Wendy exits the room, and heads to the bathroom. She stops outside the closed door, and knocks.
"Ingrid are you in there?"
"I'll be out in a minute," Ingrid responds from the other side of the door.
"Your mom made breakfast, we're all waiting on you."
"You can eat without me. I'll be down in a little while."
"Ingrid, are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she insists.
Wendy eyes the door suspiciously. She touches the doorknob, and makes a quick decision. She twists the knob, and pushes the door open. She enters the bathroom, allowing the door to close behind her. She finds Ingrid in the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the bathtub.
"Sweetie what are you doing in here?"
Ingrid doesn't answer, she doesn't even look up. She keeps her eyes cast downward. She stares at the flood tiles. It's nearly time for her to go to work, and she's still in her pajamas.
"Are you planning on camping out in the bathroom all day?"
"Wendy, go away!" Ingrid insists.
"Are you hiding out in here?"
"Maybe," she shrugs still not meeting Wendy's glance.
Wendy moves towards her. She takes a seat on the edge of the bathtub, positioning herself next to Ingrid.
"Is something wrong?"
"Please just leave me alone," Ingrid begs.
"If you don't come down for breakfast your mom is going to notice. She is going to think that something is wrong."
"My whole life is wrong," Ingrid growls.
"Are you feeling sick?"
Ingrid looks up at her. She shoots her a look of irritation. "At this particular moment I am feeling annoyed."
"You want me to leave you alone?"
"Would it kill you?"
Wendy shrugs, "It might, and I'm not really willing to take the chance," she quips hoping to illicit a smile from Ingrid. Ingrid's facial expression remains unchanged. Her brow is furrowed, and her frown lines are rather evident.
"Tell me what's bothering you, and I'll leave you alone."
"I don't think that's a good idea."
"Of course it is."
"You'll just tell her," Ingrid argues.
"I will admit that I will, probably, at some point, or another tell your mother whatever it is that you tell me."
"So why should I tell you?"
"I won't tell her right now."
"Wendy it's complicated, and I really don't want to talk about it."
"So you would rather hide out in the bathroom?"
"I'm not hiding out in here."
"So what are you doing in here? Avoiding the inevitable?"
"Please just let it go."
"You should know by now that letting things go is not one of my strong suits. Maybe it is a character flaw, and I seem to have very little control over it."
"Maybe you should try harder."
"Ingrid if you have a problem you should tell me what it is. Maybe I can help you."
"I doubt that," she replies with a solemn look on her face.
Wendy scrutinizes Ingrid's facial expression, and body language. She notices her hair is pulled in a ponytail, which is unusual for her.
"Are you feeling okay?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
Wendy shakes her head, "I don't know, but you don't look good. Ingrid if you're feeling sick maybe you should go back to bed. I can call in to work for you."
"Can I ask you something?"
"Anything," Wendy nods.
"Is there such a thing as magical splatter?"
"Magical splatter? What are you talking about? Give me an example."
"You cast a spell on someone else, and because of your physical proximity to that person part of it rubs off on you."
"Ingrid I think that you've lost it."
"I'm serious," she admits.
"I have never heard of that, but I suppose that it is possible. With magic almost anything is possible."
"Don't say that."
"That isn't what you wanted to hear?"
"It's what I was afraid of."
"Afraid of, what do you mean? Ingrid what spell are you talking about?"
"It doesn't matter."
"Tell me," Wendy begs.
"The whole situation is completely impossible, anyway," she argues.
"What situation? Sweetie, what's going on?"
"It's never happened in the past, so I'm sure that it can't happen now."
"Ingrid, please explain to me what you're talking about."
"I don't know how to explain it."
"Why not?"
"Because none of it makes any sense."
"Sometimes things don't make sense, but that doesn't mean that they aren't possible."
"I don't want this to be possible."
"Do you think that you have some sort of magical ailment, or something?"
"Worse."
"A magical plague."
"I am already cursed," she points out.
"So it was a poor choice of words. Why don't you tell me what you think has happened, and I will tell you if it's possible."
"As much as I don't want it to be possible, I am fairly certain that the evidence points to the fact that it is."
"Evidence? What evidence?"
"The evidence that the universe hates me."
"The universe does not hate you," Wendy argues.
"I wouldn't be so certain."
"Why not?"
"Because this is worse than any curse. It's worse than dying."
"How can you even say that?"
"Dying is inevitable, for everyone."
"Not true."
"For normal people," Ingrid revises.
"You're not a normal person. You're special."
"Which means I have magical problems, and non-magical ones, too."
