Matilda groaned sleepily as sunlight streamed through the window of her bedroom. She had always hated how early the sun rose in summer and grimaced as she threw an arm over her eyes, rolling away from the light. Something rattled behind her but she ignored it, settling back into the darkness and the vaguely pleasant dream she couldn't quite recall now.
"Matilda?", came Jenny's soft voice from outside the door. "Would you care for some tea?"
Matilda ignored her in favour of burrowing deeper into her covers. Jenny knocked, gently.
"Matilda?"
Jenny opened the door quietly, a fond smile blooming at the sight of her adopted daughter curled up comfortably in her bed.
"Darling, it's nine-thirty. I know it's your holiday but you'll miss half the day if you stay in here much longer."
Hearing quiet grumbles from Matilda's direction, Jenny skirted around the bed to draw the curtains but frowned at the tangled mess that greeted her.
"Sweetheart, why have you knotted up your curtains?" she asked, perplexed.
Matilda sat up blearily. "What?"
Jenny gestured at them confusedly and Matilda frowned.
"That wasn't me," she replied with a shrug, already turning over possible explanations in her mind. Jenny tugged at the knots holding the curtains tightly together.
"Well, whatever happened, it's no wonder you slept so long. It's so dark in here" she admonished. Matilda paused, recalling the streaming light from barely ten minutes ago.
"Yes," she agreed slowly. "But I could've sworn –"
Jenny glanced at her expectantly but Matilda cut herself off, shaking her head.
"Never mind."
Jenny hummed in response, turning back to the door. "So, tea?"
Matilda nodded, closing her eyes one last time to bask in the lingering memory of an arm wrapped around her waist and the breath tickling her neck before she'd awoken.
"So, what are you going to do with your first day off uni?" Jenny asked, as she set down Matilda's mug in front of her.
Matilda looked up at her, at the sincerity of her grin and was struck suddenly by the weight of her recent loneliness. She smiled softly at Jenny, distractedly noting the way the sun haloes around her face as if she truly were an angel. Then Jenny's eyes widened abruptly, and Matila followed her gaze to the tea in front of her, no longer resting on the table but floating, three inches above it.
Matilda startled as the mug dropped back down suddenly, miraculously unbroken but spilling tea across its sides. Blinking, she returned her gaze to Jennifer, finding her already staring in blatant shock.
"Your powers are back?" is the first thing Jenny thought to ask. But Matilda shook her head, every bit as confused and anxious.
"I… don't know," she said. "This is the first time this has happened since – since before."
Jenny's brows furrowed. Matilda found herself wishing she could smooth it out with her thumb.
"Maybe you should try again?" Jennifer proposed.
Matilda nodded hesitantly. She turned her focus to the card pack left on the table from the night before and squinted at them intently.
A moment passed. Jenny cocked her head in question. Matilda squinted harder.
When still nothing occurred, Matilda sighed.
"Maybe it was a fluke," she suggested, halfheartedly. Jenny chewed on her lip, thinking. Matilda's eyes dropped to it unconsciously, watching the pearly white teeth catch it between them. She licked her lips.
A gasp snapped her out of her trance. Jenny was staring over her shoulder, to where the card pack wavered in the air.
"Definitely not a fluke," was all Jenny said.
Matilda spent the rest of the day pondering the return of her powers. As far as she could tell, the only common thread had been her state of distraction. So, she tried daydreaming. She built castles in her mind and told herself familiar stories of kings and queens and princesses until she lost track of time. But not once did she catch sight of another hovering item.
It wasn't until she retired to bed that night, that she caught sight of her knotted-up curtains. Suddenly, she recalled the frustration with which she'd turned away from the light, in her desperation to fall back into her dream. A rattling noise, she'd heard.
Tentatively, she shook the curtains where they hung. The hooks rattled over the pole as they dragged from side to side, in a noise that perfectly matched this morning's.
Matilda sat down on her bed heavily. Theoretically, she supposed she'd been daydreaming then too. Literally thinking about her earlier dream.
She huffed. The daydreaming wasn't the cause, so what was? As a child, she'd drawn from her anger. She'd taken all the injustices she'd suffered until she'd accumulated all her repressed anger and released it all in bursts of magic. But she wasn't angry anymore. She certainly wasn't angry when she was using her power.
Matilda fell back onto her pillows with a groan. What could it be?