I woke up the next morning four hours earlier to ready myself. Hair, skin, clothes, it had to be perfect. 

I washed my hair carefully and filled it with expensive oils. I brushed my teeth and rinsed my face, buttering it with the softest rose cream. And I left my clothing lying over the trunk at the foot of my bed to keep it from wrinkling.

After I took off my pajama pants, I slid open the huge cedar wood door of my closet and saw the empty spot where once the treasure chest lay –a clean, rectangular space standing out around the dusty floor.

The rest is history I guess.

So five o’clock in the goddamn morning, I wore back my pajama pants and slid my delicate feet into my precious shark slippers (the left one was missing an eye) and bolted out of my bedroom, and did the one thing I had promised myself never to do. 

A prohibited act, reserved only for situations of extreme despair.

I went to my sister’s chambers.