she's a wanderer. she leaves traces of herself everywhere that she goes, trailing bits of forgotten stories like silk scarves trailing on the wind - perfume hangs in the air when she exits a room, toothbrushes bought in bulk and left like some sort of dental gingerbread path. in the evening is her favourite time of the …
the house is quiet,built after several bitter monthsof designing and planning.every feature is carefullycurated, placed to be clever. sometimes, in the evenings,it settles.floorboards creak undera phantom's step;wind whistles through windows thatneed sealing up. winteris on its way,after all. at night, she settles in withbooks and tea,a teapot perched nine preciseinches away. later still,when it's midnight, …
she dives into the water, the undisturbed pool barely rippling as she breaks the surface.
The Light Tree
In the middle of town, there's a tree with a string of lights wrapped around it; Christmas lights, from the looks of it.