The numbers slowly rolled from her tongue, chasing the merle-coated youth away into a distant broom closet. Eventually, her counting slowed and died away into silence, just as yellow eyes opened, searching, knowing that he wouldn’t be in plain sight. Practice made perfect, and such childish games were merely a guise for useful skills garnered that’d aid later on in life. She lowered her nose to the floor, inhaling the myriad of different scents residing there. Quickly, she found his—fresh and recent, luring her toward the hallway. Slowly, she trundled along, following his invisible trail, tracing a path toward the closet.
But she didn’t enter. She didn’t even cry out or make her presence known.
Instead, she moved forward and slammed the door closed with a sharp click. There was a triumphant, vicious look on her face. Oh, how everyone seemed to prefer her silent, bizarre sibling. She despised any attention lavished on the quiet boy. So, she’d lock him away from the world. Had she been older, her methods may have been far more devious than simply closing a door, trapping him until someone found him. Pleased, she trotted off, waving her feathered trail in a slow, victorious manner.
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