The rabbit leans in, mirror still in face, and calls down, “…you don’t have to remember me if you don’t want to! Just… try to be a good girl, be nice to the other children, don’t borrow so much you can’t pay it back, and don’t eat too many pears!”
The last bit wobbles, glub-glubbing as if underwater.
A low, interrupting screech begins.
The crispy cacophony of a window shoves shut, smacking the rabbit on the head.
It leaves a big lump, christening his temples thoroughly.
After his paws fumble a stopwatch from somewhere, his long ears crisp up suddenly, listening for a sound; a thud from outside. The paws start wringing each other, like a much abused dishcloth.
When he doesn’t hear the thud after a few moments, his little bunny nose wrinkles his mouth in a little rabbit smile.