Catherine stirred to the warbling of a particularly inconsiderate avian chorus. She’d been savouring a delightful dream wherein Cosima had... Her eyelids flitted against the sluggish coils of sleep and flicked open to reveal the source of the unfamiliar weight pressing upon her chest. The wasp’s vibrant red hair spilled over the artists pale skin, their head nestled against the upper slope of her right breast, gently rising and falling in concert with her breathing. An arm draped languidly across her alabaster form and Catherine’s own lay across the toned flesh of the Claviger’s waist.
Ahhhh, neither fantasy nor the figment of an idle mind...
Filled with a pleasant warmth and a feeling of deep contentment the Muse scanned the room, regarding the debris from the previous evening; a toppled chair, some spilled paints long since dried into the covering she’d spread over the floor. She noted the broken remains of her easel with detached amusement.
Well it was obstructing our progress... She recalled. It was fortunate that there had not been a painting drying on its wooden frame at the time.
To her trained eye it appeared that her rude awakening had done little to rouse Cosima from her repose. The Claviger slept on, their features utterly relaxed. She swiftly stepped into the dusty hall of her library, committing the image to its pages and posterity before refocusing upon the room and its adorable occupant. Were it workable, the Artist would have remained contentedly cuddling Coco until she stirred from her slumber, even then she would be loathe to leave the cosy and comforting cavity the pair currently cohabited. Though sadly nature is a harsh mistress, and heeding her call Catherine gently raised the wasp’s arm, laying it with great care to one side afore slowly sliding out from beneath the redhead's snoozing shape. She cautiously crept towards the door to the chamber, though not before calling upon separation to stifle the sound of her steps and softly swathing the sleeper ‘neath the duvet, to preserve the warmth which her person had previously provided.
After a brief trip to the water closet and a protracted spell beneath the hot jets of the shower, the Artist found herself pussyfooting into the kitchenette. Beset by a gnawing emptiness, Catherine opened what had until her arrival been a particularly barren fridge and appropriated a carton of eggs, a block of butter, some pancetta, a wedge of parmesan and a number of other ingredients which she’d previously stashed within its chilled confines. From a cupboard she withdrew bag of flour and a package of hazelnuts, adding to the detritus littering the counter. Setting the coffee pot a-brewing, she cracked open a half-dozen eggs, and set about the delicate task of preparing fruit crepes and 'eggy in the clouds' in tandem.Catherine tries not to wake the sleeping beauty
After a short time she had arrayed two plates upon a handled tray, one bearing the aforementioned 'eggy in the clouds', the other replete with an array of hazelnut crepes which enfolded an amalgam of sliced strawberries and apricots; this was accompanied by a bowl of honey and a small dish of whipped cream. The dishes were joined by two cups of coffee, a small sugar bowl and a pair of bijou jugs containing milk and cream respectively.
Silently crossing the carpet and avoiding the remains of the previous evenings abandoned repast, Catherine swung the bedroom door slowly open, from beyond which she may have briefly detected the subtle susurration of someone mumbling in their sleep. Returning as she had arrived, the Artist raised the tray and softly stepped back into the boudoir. She approached the bed and circumnavigating the remains of her easel, laid the tray upon a bedside table. Then, seized by the fairytale nature of the scene before her, knelt and attempted to stir the beauty from her slumber with a kiss.
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