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lancifolium
Jan. 16th, 2021 10:56 pmThe little town was barely on most maps. It was rustic—quaint even for muggles. The roads were scarcely auto-worthy and you got the impression they liked it that way. Almost everyone had their own vegetable gardens, in addition to the surrounding farmland, and everywhere was walking distance from everywhere else. All showed a real love of this place. They seemed to consider it blessed. There were hints in their conversation, that they themselves would be unable to identify, that this was more than a feeling. Something was truly Charmed, here.
At one end of town, the dirt roads gave way to paved ones, to eventually connect up with the modern world. At the other end was a gentle hill with a tree on top, picture-perfect as a place to sit and read or gaze out at the village. What she was looking for would be on the other side.
Sure enough, with the hill between it and the village, still in the clear before the start of the woodlands, and set back from the… hardly road, here just a path—was a little one-storey house. Its colour was hard to tell anymore. The paint was so discoloured and the plants so overgrown. They climbed up the walls and windowsills and curved delicately around gutters. The lawn was completely covered in flowering weeds. It seemed that no one could be living here. But the sense the house gave was not of haunting or desertion. Rather, it seemed pleasantly like nature had moved back in. The family of birds under the eave, squirrels in the small tree, and rabbits in the overflowed garden seemed to agree. They gave the impression—unusual to their species—of feeling entirely safe.
But if you looked closely, you'd notice that the roof was in good repair, the windows were all intact, and the front door was clear of plants. Closer still, the doorknob was shiny from touch.
This must be the place.
At one end of town, the dirt roads gave way to paved ones, to eventually connect up with the modern world. At the other end was a gentle hill with a tree on top, picture-perfect as a place to sit and read or gaze out at the village. What she was looking for would be on the other side.
Sure enough, with the hill between it and the village, still in the clear before the start of the woodlands, and set back from the… hardly road, here just a path—was a little one-storey house. Its colour was hard to tell anymore. The paint was so discoloured and the plants so overgrown. They climbed up the walls and windowsills and curved delicately around gutters. The lawn was completely covered in flowering weeds. It seemed that no one could be living here. But the sense the house gave was not of haunting or desertion. Rather, it seemed pleasantly like nature had moved back in. The family of birds under the eave, squirrels in the small tree, and rabbits in the overflowed garden seemed to agree. They gave the impression—unusual to their species—of feeling entirely safe.
But if you looked closely, you'd notice that the roof was in good repair, the windows were all intact, and the front door was clear of plants. Closer still, the doorknob was shiny from touch.
This must be the place.
