Pulling her haphazardly around the ballroom,

I savour each giggle bubbling through her small lips.

The orchestra’s polite waltz has no influence on the wild spins and daring jumps between us. As she’s merely half my size, I swiftly lift my sister upwards, blinking away at her skirt’s lavender frills which caress my eyelashes in passing. I pull her to my chest before she lands, whisking her around in circles while her feet dangle freely in the air. I relish in her exhilarated squeals as we narrowly dodge unsuspecting dancers.

Naturally, my mind escapes to images of her growing older. Needlework creations becoming more complex, the secondary school qualms and school dances in need of navigation.

I do not know what war will bring, yet the letter calling me to action mustn’t be ignored.

In this moment, I cherish the gleam of the patent leather shoes stumbling over mine, and push aside the fear tomorrow will bring.