They sat on the floor in a loose square.
Morning sun came through the wide panes of Lia's front room and laid itself across the boards in a hard, clean sheet.
The wood was still cool at the edges. Only the strip under the light had begun to warm.
Dust turned slowly in it. Somewhere deeper in the house a clock marked the hour with a soft wooden click that sounded too loud in a room this still.
Sunday had emptied the street outside. Only the distant roll of a single cart, and then nothing.
Sophia sat first.
The short skirt pooled around her thighs the moment she folded her legs. Most of her skin met the floor.
She tucked the hem under herself and kept one hand there, fingers tight in the cloth, as if that would stop it climbing.
Lia sat sideways, one knee drawn up. The dress rode her thigh and stayed there.
Olivia sat last.
