It Will Not Fit Under the Bed

The dormitory rules said no pets. The dormitory rules did not specifically address a bruise-coloured entity of indeterminate species that had started calling Wisp "the small one" and following her to lectures. Her roommate, Otta, took it surprisingly well. Otta took most things well; it was, Wisp had decided, her most irritating quality. "It can sleep by the window," Otta said. "It seems to like the window." "It does not fit by the window. It does not fit anywhere. It is the size of a misunderstanding." The creature, from the window, where it had somehow folded itself to fit, made a low pleased rumble. It had been improving its vocabulary at an alarming rate. That morning it had used the word "jurisdiction" correctly in a sentence, and Wisp had not slept well since. "Wisp," said Otta, more gently. "It chose to stay. Things don't do that for no reason. Have you considered just... asking it why?" Wisp had not. Wisp had been too busy panicking. She looked at the creature. The creature looked back, patient, expectant, far too clever, and waited to be asked.