Violetta and the Stork

Sleepily she padded across the cold kitchen floor with her bare feet. What she needed now was a cup of tea. Black. With rock sugar.

The twilight of the beginning day bathed the kitchen in delicate pink. Even the bow around the package was pink.

Package … table … She frowned. How did it get there? Neither could she imagine having put it there nor having packed it. No memory.

Hesitantly she stepped closer and began to examine it. Black velvet with a pink bow — an eye-catcher. Strange.

Her fingers traced clear, firm contours. Ah, there was a dent, a damage of the velvet. She squinted. Letters. That would most likely be it. This nc turned the package into an object that captivated and confused her. Something was wrong.

What word? Do what? Pass it on? But then — to whom? Or open it? And what would happen then?

So many questions, and the day had only just begun.

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