The Fire Below

Savannah had been curled up by the fireplace in her apartment when she heard the phone ring. She sighed, and placed a bookmark in the fantasy novel she had been ringing. Ella Fitzgerald was singing sweetly through the speakers attached to her computer, and a cup of hot tea was sitting, untouched, on a small table next to the club chair Savannah had been sitting in. Savannah swung her slender legs out from under her, and padded over to the phone wearing a ratty pair of bunny slippers.