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Rose got up, thinking to go look for her Dad, but almost fell right over again. She grabbed the bed for balance. Then she walked carefully over to the mirror... trying to figure out what was wrong with herself.
She looked into the mirror in awe. Her forehead jewel was... red? How could that be? That wasn't normal. They weren't supposed to change colors, from what she recalled. It had something to do with the nature of the magic in the person, and that wouldn't change...
Rose had noticed her wings her gone. She would get them back again, of that she was certain. But what was offsetting her balance then?
She turned sideways in the mirror, and shreiked! She had no wings, true. But she never expected to find herself with a fox tail!!!!
"What on earth is going on!" she yelled at the mirror. "This... this isn't right!" she said, though she wasn't certain anymore.
She decided to go see what her father would say about it. She left her room and went down the stairs. She peeked in the den, which was empty. Then into the kitchen; nothing. The living room was also empty, as was the bathroom, and the garden room. She checked upstairs, but the bathroom there was empty, as were the spare rooms. Rose walked quietly to her father's room. The door was closed. It usually was. She had hardly ever gone in there since her mother died. Her father was seclusive about it.
She knocked, though there was no answer. She turned the knob, expecting it to be locked, but it wasn't, and the door swumg open easily.
She flicked on the light and looked around. The room was dark, even with the light on. Her father was a cheerful person, and his room was the only place he let his sorrow show. The furniture was all of dark wood, and the colors were rich and dark; midnight blues, forest greens and a touch of burgundy. But everything was neat. Clean. Straight.
Rose walked through the room, calling for her father softly. She opened his wardrobe, and found his clothes hung neatly, shoes lined up just right. She checked under the bed; nothing but a few old boxes. She passed around the bed and over to the desk. A blank pad of paper sat off to the right, and all the pens sat elegantly in their box. Frustrated, she checked the trash can. It was empty, as well. Nothing wrong, nothing missing... except her father. She ran to the closet, and moved around some of the heavy coats (one she realized was her mothers), and looked in the bottom of the closet. His suitcase was there.
She sat back on her heels and sighed. She thought that would have explained it. She closed the closet door, and shivvered as a breeze swept through the room. She went over to the bay window, with the grey curtains blowing in a soft breeze. She grabbed the left window and pulled it shut against the right. She flicked the little lock closed, and watched absently as the curtains settled onto the dark wood window sill. Rose frowned suddenly, and her eyes went wide.
On the window sill, leading out, were four bloody smears. As if some bloody person had been dragged out the window unwillingly.
Rose banged at the window, trying to open it, before remembering the latch. She unlatched the door and threw it open. She looked down and out the window for some sign of... something. But there was none. Nothing in sight. Then she remembered; there had been roses outside this window, down below. Her mother had loved them, and her father had tended to them lovingly after she was gone. But now, the bushes were a torn and broken mess of branches. Not a single rose bloomed below.
Rose closed the window carefully, and latched it. She watched the filmy grey curtains settle again on the window sill, seeming to ignore the blood stain on the sill. She walked back out of her father's room without pausing to close the door, and went back to her room.
She changed her clothes silently, and went downstairs to fix something to eat.