Court Of Night

Hope

Fie Wrights P. O. V

My feet make a muted thudding noise as I head into the vibrant kitchen. An almost turquoise blue is splashed along all the walls of the kitchen, fitted with light wooden accents and a mosaic multi coloured tiled wall. I catch sight of my mum standing attentive at the stove as she stirs the sauce bubbling away in the pot while my father dotingly frets about her, hands poised in the air ready to haul her away from the menacing flames emitting from the stove.

It's not like my dad's worry is at all displaced since my mum's nearly burned the entirety of the house down around three times. If you look close enough, you'll be able to catch sight the underside of the charred wooden cabinets; the flames sometimes reaching too high up for anyone's liking yet surprisingly it only happens when mum's cooking.

Clearing my throat, the sound travels around the small room till my mum turns around and gives me a look that I can only describe as distaste. Frowning, she gives me a once over before shaking her head and turning back to the stove once more. My dad looks over at me and smiles as he takes a further glance at me, wondering why my mum would have a reaction like that till he assesses my clothes, he rolls his eyes at my mothers reaction as I peer down at my own attire; Consisting of an overly baggy grey t- shirt with the printed words faded from the overuse of it matched with a hoodie thrown on top, black sweatpants which- surprise surprise- are baggy as well to match and my feet covered in blue and white stripped fluffy socks.

My mum always seems to disapprove of my incredibly comfortable attire every time she sees me wearing it which is every time I set foot in the house. It's not like I'm going to be dressed up in my finest clothes just to lounge around the house, sadly my mother doesn't understand the concept as she throws my dad a pointed look who raises his own hands in the air.

"Mum, stop worrying about my clothes." I grumble as I make my way over to the kitchen island that's surrounded by bar stools. Hopping up onto one, I place my elbows on the surface as I grab an apple laying in a bowl and bite into it.

"Honestly Amelia, let the girl do as she pleases." My father says as he waves a hand in the air, gently pushing my mother to sit on the stools with me as he takes my mum's position of head chef.

"No Fredrick," she says with further emphasis on his name, "You should always be looking your best honey." Mum coos as she grabs onto my puffy cheeks filled with Apple as I give her a weird look. "You could find your mate at any time love, remember that." She says as she lets go of my cheeks and wags a finger in front of my face instead.

Raising a brow, I lift my hands and purposely make a display of looking around the kitchen before turning to her, "Its not like he's going to show up in our kitchen." I say pointedly to which she merely waves a hand in the air to dismiss my words.

"You never know, he just might." My mother says ominously while I snort, "Well he better haul ass and get here," I mutter under my breath. My father merely smiles from the sidelines as he grabs plates and dishes our food up while I go to bring glasses and drinks for all of us. It doesn't take long before we're all tucking into our meal and talking aimlessly here and there, that is till my father disrupts my conversation with my mother.

"The advisory meeting will be held tomorrow Fie, I expect you to be there bright and early." The groan that escapes me is abrupt as my parents eye me with amused expressions, knowing damn well I hate waking up earlier than my usual timings, "I'd ask you to debrief me but I already know the answer," I reply with pursed lips to which my father nods his head solemnly. With a sigh, I nod my head and give myself a blaring reminder to fix my alarm on my phone before going to bed tonight so that I'm up early enough.