What do you hope for?

The red velvet is aged and worn, patches at the knees actually shiny from years of use. In a few years -- next year even -- the small girl studying the spots will wonder why a thing like that couldn't be fixed in the eleven months in between. After all, mama won't let a stain stand for even an hour. But that's next year, the wondering and pondering. For now she's just running her fingers over the places, enjoying the way the textures feel.

Her hair is pulled up in a sight of slightly mismatched pigtails, one fuller than the other. The ends are slightly damp, not because she chews on her hair? But because if it ever gets in the way of talking, she really can't be bothered. Not when there's things to say.

Bracing her hands on the red fabric, she finally pulls herself up, two big hands catching up under her arms to help. But only a little bit. Anymore wouldn't be allowed.

Chocolate-kissed eyes meet ones of winter blue.

"I was wondering when we were going to get here. Most little girls can't wait."

"Wait for what?"

"For me."

"Well that's just plain silly. You're only here once a year. That means there's always waiting."

There is a laugh. A chuckle. Because that is what he does, after all. Along with being warm, and smelling like cinnamon and peppermint.

"That's very true...just what is your name?"

She looks up then, the tilt of her chin sending her pigtails hanging even lower.

"Winifred."

"That's a lot of name, Winifred. What if I call you Winnie?"

Her nose scrunches up, opinion clear.

"Win?"

"Who loses?"

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