He'd never even locked the door when he left.
It swung open with only the slight resistance of too much dust gathered in the hinges, and a musty smell filled his nose, like butterfly milk turned sour. The scent moved lazily--after all, what need for haste was there? No one had lived here for almost a year now. There was no one left to impress.
The cottage was mostly empty, he'd taken everything with him when he left. To be honest, the majority of it wound up in the trash. Only in a small corner did a few items remain. A frying pan, a blanket. A jar of hot chocolate mix. A map. Perhaps some small part of The Once-ler had hoped his old visitors would find the gifts--that they would return at all--but none had. Most had left the valley same as he, moving on to new places, brighter skies. Nothing would ever be the same, and he knew that. But once in awhile, he'd remember their faces. Every now and then, that old scent would fill his nose.
