The Plush Twin
Anemo left the Littlepace shopping center almost at a run. Outside, the sky was the color of lead, and a fine, cold rain had begun to fall, stinging his cheeks. The way home, usually a ten-minute stroll, now felt like a survival marathon. He looked fearfully left and right; he wasn't afraid of the few passers-by, but of a possible encounter with HIS MOTHER, whom the pharmacist had mentioned was "in the area."
The big problem was at his feet. On one, he had a white sneaker, and on the other... the brown plush dog-slipper, soaked, with a pink tongue hanging out insolently. Anemo walked with long, lunging strides along the edge of the sidewalk, trying to mask the "beast" among the yellow tulips and daffodils lining the path. At every step, the water-clogged plush made a disgusting sound: "Squish!" Suddenly, out of nowhere, SHE appeared. Daisy Queen. Plump, elegant, and extremely agitated, Daisy blocked the sidewalk under a giant umbrella. In one hand, she held a single yellow glove, which she gestured with chaotically, and in the other, she held the leash of a brown Cocker Spaniel, extremely fluffy, which bore a striking resemblance to Anemo's slipper—and, of course, the handle of the oversized umbrella.
— Mr. Anemo! Your politeness should stop me! she cried, waving the yellow glove under his nose. — It’s a robbery! I’m left with a single glove from a whole set, can you imagine? And as if that weren't enough, my monogrammed button, the gift from poor Mr. Queen, has vanished! Tonight I have the book club, we’re debating 'Women Cannot Be Tamed'... how can I show up like this? Incomplete!
Daisy’s dog, scented and clean, froze in front of Anemo’s foot. She studied her cloth "twin," which stood cold and impudent, with its tongue sticking out in the mud.
— Anemo, dear... what is that, what do you have on your foot? she asked, lowering the umbrella dangerously low. Anemo broke into an instant sweat.
— It’s... it’s a literary experiment, distinguished Mrs. Queen! I’m writing about how a character pursued by a fierce dog through marshes would escape. I’m testing the weight of fear! And, speaking of your elegance... it’s possible that Mistral, my aristocratic cat, has already found the button in the grass. I shall put your name in the book as my muse!
Daisy, flattered by the idea of becoming a character, let him go.
Anemo bolted for home, leaving behind a trail of wet footprints and a rhythmic sound: "Squish! Squish!". He was in a great hurry, convinced he had heard his mother’s voice around the corner. His glasses were covered in droplets, like a windshield without wipers. Arriving home, he slammed the door behind him and sighed with relief in the dark hallway. But the silence didn't last. Knock-knock! Someone was tapping discreetly but firmly with a gold ring on the bronze lion knocker. It was Daisy, who had run out of patience. Anemo rushed to the living room, convinced the button was on the writing desk. But the desk was empty! From the corner, the sober black Grandfather Clock made a bizarre sound. It was jammed. It seemed to be clearing its throat, with a metallic reverberation: Hiss-clunk... hiss-clunk...
— I’m coming in, Mr. Anemo! Daisy shouted, bursting into the hall. — What a bizarre sound your clock is making! It’s as if it swallowed silverware!
She stopped in front of the clock. In the "belly of time," behind the glass, the D.Q. button shone, blocking the mechanism. Anemo pulled at the stuck door and, with one last "hiss," the clock spat the button onto the floor. Daisy bent down happily, but at that moment, a purple envelope slipped from her pocket. Sirocco, the mischievous current of the house, snatched it immediately, carrying it toward the ceiling. However, Mistral, the black cat, sprang from the cabinet, caught the envelope mid-air, and elegantly deposited it at the lady's feet.
— You are geniuses! Daisy exclaimed, leaving victoriously with the button and the envelope in her hand. Anemo collapsed onto the floor, with his dog-slipper soaking wet. But, after less than ten seconds... Knock-knock-knock!
— Anemo! Open up! The envelope! I’ve lost it again on the steps! Tell me Mistral is on it!
On the other side of the door, Anemo was reading the contents of the mysterious envelope, whose seal had been permanently compromised by some claws—we aren't exactly sure whose. The envelope and the letter were actually one and the same, a nineteenth-century style fold in an elegant retro fashion:
"Highly esteemed Remi Storm, it gives us great pleasure to invite you to take part in our book club meeting which will take place next Wednesday..."
— Incredible, this woman... I simply can't believe it! Anemo muttered, deaf to the insistent knocking on the door. — So that’s it... this author who’s been so popular lately... 'Women Cannot Be Tamed' here, 'Women Cannot Be Tamed' there—she’s their guest! But what about me? Am I not also a... a... respectable writer, an author?
— Anemo, open up, I tell you!
Hearing at last the desperation of the distinguished lady, doubled by the barking of her little dog, Anemo Gale opened the door and, with a short, dry, almost robotic gesture, handed her the crumpled letter, immediately closing the door again without another word or sign.
But the peace didn't last long this time either. The kittens and Eol hadn't even managed to resume their routine with their scattered master when more insistent knocking was heard, accompanied by Mrs. Gale’s voice.
— Anemo! I know you’re home; I must speak with you! Anemo, for heaven's sake, don't keep your mother at the door in this horrible weather!
— The Lady Mother is back, hide, Eol! Sirocco whispered.
The writer’s mother entered the house, taking everything in at once, like a female version of Argus.
— What monstrosity are you wearing on your feet, my dear? I see I must absolutely send someone, or rather a whole team, to organize all this chaos! Have you also heard about Miss Remi?
Mrs. Gale spoke about everything and anything in a mannered jumble that made sense only in her own head.
— We shall invite her to our club...
— Mother, please, I have a terrible headache; I think I’m coming down with a cold!
The furry inhabitants of the House of Winds looked like abandoned plush toys; somewhere deep in their "wordless" little hearts, they too felt that this day was too much for Anemo.
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