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Mary woke up and rolled over on her bed, running her hand over her face to remove some stray curls. Her blue eyes widened when she glimpsed at the window, and saw little white cotton balls swirling under the early grey morning sky.
Suddenly awake, she jumped from her covers and barged in her mom’s room, just across her own.
“Mom, it’s snowing!!” She grinned, jumping over on Agnes who was buried under a thick layer of covers.
“Hmhum, go tell your sister.” She groggily responded, shifting on the bed and falling right back asleep.
Mary jumped and ran across the house, through the corridors and to the west wing, the old wooden floor crooking as she went.
“Maggie!” She called, before busting open her door and jumping on her older sister. “Maggie it’s snowing!” She shook her shoulders, hearing a small grunt in response.
Margareth rolled over and opened her eyes, squinting. “What time is it?” She asked, lethargically.
Mary glanced over the digital alarm clock on Marge’s nightstand. “Seven and zero nine.”
Marge hummed. “Five more minutes…”
“Noo, it’s snowing now , you have to get up!!” Mary shook her again, and Marge hid herself under the covers. Mary felt challenged by the gesture, and raised the blankets, giggling. “Maggie!”
Margareth managed to crack a corner smile. There was absolutely no arguing against a small child excited about snow. It reminded her of how she used to do exactly that with Catherine when it was just the two of them. “Hmm I’m getting up.” She yawned.
Mary jumped from her bed and skipped across her room, cleaned the foggy glass with her fist and stuck her palms and lips to the glass balcony door, hypnotized by the little flakes falling effortlessly and gracefully from the sky. Margareth got up and lazily got inside a warm robe, walking up to Mary and lifting the sheer curtains.
“It really is snowing.” She crossed her arms, yawning, and looked down at the courtyard, sprinkled with a thin sheet of fresh white snow.
“Let’s go there!”
“Only if you put on your coat and boots.” Marge said, and Mary went running back to her bedroom, screaming “Okay!” on the way.
Marge waited for a minute, watching the snowfall and feeling her mind waking up to full consciousness. As fast as she went, Mary came back packed with her pink snow coat and boots, looking like a little doll, and Marge let out a small chuckle at the sight.
“Let’s go?” She asked, dying with eagerness.
“Let’s not stay out long okay, it’s too cold outside.” Marge said, putting on her own boots, and both headed downstairs.
Marge unlocked the back door and Mary spilled out it, running across the spacious patio and swirling around, looking up trying to catch snowflakes in her mouth. Marge caught up to her, shriveled inside her burgundy robe.
“Maggie, look!” Mary called, running and kneeling in front of a tiny yellow flower.
“Oh!” She kneeled next to her. “Do you know what that is?”
Mary shook her head.
“That,” Marge took the wildflower from the ground. “Is a buttercup.” She smiled, examining the tiny flower and giving it to Mary. “Did you know, that if you hold it like this-” She placed Mary’s hand under her chin. “-and your chin turns yellow, it means you like butter.”
“Butter?” Mary giggled.
“Butter!” Margareth grinned, looking at the golden light the flower reflected on her sister’s chin. “And it looks like you love butter!”
Mary tried looking at her own chin, without success. “Where did you learn that?”
“Catherine told me when I was just about your age.” Marge smiled, a little nostalgic. And then sneezed, rubbing her cold hands together. “Why don’t we go inside and have some pancakes with butter, and then we come back and play, hm?”
“Okay!” Mary agreed, and they both headed back inside hand in hand, to the kitchen.
“Alex!” Mary grinned when she saw her other older sister looking groggy, sipping on some tea.
“Hi. Why are you up so early on a Sunday?” She blinked, sleepy.
Margareth pointed at Mary. “I could ask you the same.” She opened the fridge and started gathering ingredients.
In the meanwhile, Mary held her buttercup under Alexandra’s chin, and it glowed a faint yellow. “I think you like butter, but not as much as me.”
“What?” Alex asked with a confused smile.
“Maggie told me if you hold the buttercup under your chin and it shines yellow it means you like butter.” She explained, simply.
“Huh.” She raised an eyebrow at Marge, who just shrugged.
The little girl climbed the stool and sat next to Alex, and both watched Marge make breakfast, Mary way too entertained by her little flower and Alex scrolling through her phone.
The otherworldly smell quickly filled the kitchen, and soon, all three of them were wordlessly enjoying their buttered pancakes.
Later that morning, Mary left her buttercup in a glass of water, in a spot in the middle of the dining room table. A spot that could be seen from the courtyard, through the windows, where the three girls played and laughed together on the snow.