Story Journal
Here's more.
Entry 2a:
The world was new. No... That wasn't true.
The world was old, and failing. Torn down, worn down, made more of rot and mold than wholesome green.
But. Holding that little bundle of blankets and warmth, it was new again.
Entry 2b:
Sea salt and resin. Old paper, rich and warm like sunlight through an open window. Dust and cobwebs and the sweet sting of decrative soap. Altogether, an odd smelling room.
But it was her favorite room in the old house. Or, rather, in her new house. The one she had inherited from her great-uncle.
Standing in this room, the study where he had spent so many long days, she could almost imagine he was still here.
Entry 2a:
The world was new. No... That wasn't true.
The world was old, and failing. Torn down, worn down, made more of rot and mold than wholesome green.
But. Holding that little bundle of blankets and warmth, it was new again.
Entry 2b:
Sea salt and resin. Old paper, rich and warm like sunlight through an open window. Dust and cobwebs and the sweet sting of decrative soap. Altogether, an odd smelling room.
But it was her favorite room in the old house. Or, rather, in her new house. The one she had inherited from her great-uncle.
Standing in this room, the study where he had spent so many long days, she could almost imagine he was still here.