Page 51 of The Monster's Daughter
I grunt. “It’s leaking.”
“No shit, scales.” She rolls off the couch and drags a bucket under the drip, muttering, “Well, that’s one more thing the landlord won’t fix.”
Natalie appears in the doorway, hair sticking up, clutching her sword. “Monster fight?”
“No, kiddo,” Bella sighs. “Roof fight.”
Her little face lights up. “Even better.”
Fixing it turns into a disaster.
The ladder’s too small for me, creaks like it’s about to snap. The tool kit’s missing half the bits. And the roof itself? Rusted through, patched with plastic sheeting.
I try anyway. Bella hands me tools, snarking the whole time.
“You sure you’re not secretly an architect?” she says as I wedge a wrench between two bolts.
“I built a deli counter once.”
“Wow, useful.”
The wrench slips. My claws gouge the metal.
Crash.
The ladder gives. I land flat on my back, the air whooshing out of me.
Natalie claps like it’s the best show she’s ever seen. “Do it again!”
Bella howls with laughter, doubled over, tears streaking her cheeks. “Oh my god. You’re—oh—don’t ever stop being this clumsy. I can’t?—”
I growl, heat rising in my frills. “It’s not funny.”
“It’s hilarious,” she gasps between fits of laughter.
I try again. Same story. Ladder shifts, I lurch sideways, crash into the wall. Natalie screams with joy. Bella falls against the counter, wheezing.
“Alright,” I mutter, dragging the ruined ladder upright, “the ceiling wins.”
By the time the leak is patched—poorly—we’re soaked through. My scales drip. Bella’s shirt clings to her, hair plastered to her face. Even Natalie’s damp from sitting too close.
The toolkit’s fried. The floor’s a mess. But Bella can’t stop smiling, even when she mutters, “We’re screwed.”
We end up eating takeout on the floor, wrapped in towels. Grease-stained cartons scattered around us, rain still pounding above.
Natalie wiggles between us, noodles hanging from her mouth like antennae. “Look, I’m a bug!”
Bella snorts into her drink. I laugh, low in my chest.
And for a moment—just one fragile moment—I let myself think:This is it. This is what it could be.
Not perfect. But real.
But reality won’t leave me alone.
The signs are piling up.
Natalie’s mannerisms—her stubborn little chin when she argues, the way she squints when she’s plotting something. Bella’s face echoes in her every grin.
