Kisala

“Rose?” What in the world was that sound? Rose rolled herself even tighter in her cocoon of bed sheets. “Rose?” “Go ‘way, Hugo,” she muttered. “Hugo?” she heard another voice giggle. There was a chorus of laughs. Rose opened up one sleep-encrusted eye to see a group of eleven-year-old girls, all dressed pristinely in their school uniforms and headed for the door. “We have class in about forty-five minutes,” said the stylish brunette girl at the foot of the bed. She had enviable waves of chestnut brown hair, and looked like one of those girls Rose had seen on the covers of Witch Tee