AN: My one of my friends dared me to do a oneshot, on something I haven't done before. Thus born this story. Believe it or not, I got the inspiration from the time whenmy mom left the light on in her room. Yeah. Wierd.
Disclaimer: Wishing is hopeless, people.
He still kept a light on in her room.
He knew it was stupid, and he knew it was against every Earth Day rule he ever heard. After all, he didn't want to destroy it right after he saved it. He knew it was naive to hope.
But he did it anyway.
It was some vain hope that she would one day show up at his door, grinning and laden with shopping bags from Burberry. Like none of it had really happened.
Like Natalie Kabra wasn't gone.
Like he said, vain.
But he did it anyway.
Ian peered in from the crack of the open door. The lamp did cast not much light on the room; most of it was dark, in shadow. It gave it a mythical, temple-like feel.
He pushed open the door and stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. He surveyed the room. He hadn't touched it in ages and ages. It hadn't been moved since Natalie had left.
A thick coat of dust blanketed everything. Her clothes were spread on the bed, and a mink fur coat draped her armchair. Her jewelry box sat in a corner, untouched.
He walked over to it, feeling like a naughty child. In the dim light of the single lamp, he could make out the swirling patterns on top. And the keypad.
He ran his fingers over it. Natalie never let anyone touch her box. It was the sacred rule of the Kabra household, like never asking Mother how old she actually was. If he wanted to learn more about her, it would be in this box. It would be so easy.
It took him all of fifteen minutes to work out the code. Natalie must have been really desperate to hide whatever was in it.
He pushed the top open. Inside was normal for a jewelry box: plush velvet lining, pearls and diamonds resting snugly in the scarlet. He was about to close it when he realized how shallow the box was.
Of course. How had he been so stupid?
He dug his fingers allow the outer rim of the lining. Sure enough it lifted.
A double bottom. Oldest truck in the book. And you call yourself an expert.
He shifted through the contents. Most of it was normal: test papers too bad to be signed (even Ian occasionally flunked), evidence of movies they weren't supposed to watch, et cetra.
Ian pushed it all aside and reached for the very bottom. He felt his fingers scratch against something smooth and slightly greasy. He pulled it out.
It was an old photo of the Kabras, together and for once, happy. It must have been there for ages because, a) it was all tattered and wrinkled, and b) Ian in it had no front teeth and Natalie wore pigtails, albeit intricately braid ones.
He frowned. She must have snuck this away, because Mother burned anything with her wearing anything but stilletoes.
Scrawled underneath were the words,
'I wish.'
He dropped the photo back into the case and buried it deep. He locked it and left the room.
The soft golden glow of the lamp was eerily candle-like.
I wish.
Oh Natalie. We all wished.