Post by Mary Blithe on Mar 20, 2009 21:54:47 GMT -5
Blithe Manor was a beautiful rustic manor smack in the middle of nowhere. Surrounded by trees and inhabited by no one. Mary hadn't visited it in nearly four years. She remembered the days of her and her father, when they would sit in the parlour and he would teach her music, and then they would stroll the gardens together, hand in hand.
Those days were long gone. Everything had changed, it was a miracle that the manor was still standing. All the servants were long gone, so nothing had been tended. The pantry, no doubt, and any leftover supplies had been raided and taken long ago by soldiers or thieves. It was literally just an empty shell of a memory sitting behind a grove of large willow trees.
Why, she wondered, was she back.
Nostalgia most likely played a part in it. Coming back ... she knew it would be almost impossible to fix the place up entirely, but she wanted to. Desperately.
As run-down and crumbling as it was, it still held memories.
She reached out and touched the doorknob, wrapping her fingers around the twisted knob, she jerked it sharply, and thrusting all her weight against the door, it slowly creaked open.
