#FFF36: queer and curious
my first post! I thought it'd be a good idea to start a writing blog with some writing, so here ya go. this is a short story with no real relation to anything, but it was a lot of fun to write! (with more words I probably would have worked more on the queer side of things but oh well aha)
Thank you to @flashfictionfridayofficial for the great prompt!
The valleys had echoed for thousands of years. Of kings, of gods, of the ordinary folk and the free-spirited beasts. Their nooks held the memories of lovers and friends, their crannies those of freedom and mortality. Streams whispered beneath ancient bows of oak and elm, winding their way to well-travelled seas.
Yet no hill nor valley held a name. Not one that had stuck, at least. Many had tried, but Mother Time gently wiped each away, leaving the wilds to their own.
How odd then, that standing in the largest valley, was a sign. It was wooden and simple.
In carved letters it read: âThe Cottage â Stop in for tea!â
From the sign, one could just make out a house, made of caramel stone and topped with autumnal thatch. Its windows glowed hazily in the oncoming twilight, and the smell of frying onions and garlic meandered down the dirt path into the darkening woods.
The smell of potential food hit Lottieâs senses hard, overwhelming her travel-weary body. Her stomach began to sing the praises of the stove the scent belonged to, finally giving her some sense of direction. She shoved her misbehaving compass into the depths of her backpack, and began to look for a source.
She had heard that there was a shortcut through the valleys from an old man who had given her a lift. What a lie. She was cold, hungry, and lost. Not one step closer to the village in which her grandmother lived. She had promised to visit as soon as she had finished her studies, as it had been so long. The promise was made before realising how much trouble the journey would be.
But at least there was now the chance to solve her problems. She let her nose lead her down the slope, until she could see both sign and cottage.
She began to hurry, barely taking the time to read the sign. Her boots kicked up winter dust as she pounded the dirt trail, until she came to the door.
It was small, barely large enough for a normal human to walk through. Purple paint â though aged and chipped â coated each plank head to toe.
She went to knock, but before her hand even brushed the door, she heard a voice.
âCome on in, Iâve been waiting.â The voice was feminine, posh but not old. Every word was infused with a cheerful lilt. âThe kettleâs just boiled, Iâll grab you a mug.â
She grabbed the handle and ducked slightly, pushing forward into the cottage.
Warmth engulfed her as she scraped the door over a thick and colourful rug. The entire floor was one room, dominated by a kitchen to the right. No inch of space was left unadorned, surfaces covered with natural trinkets and antiques, walls clad with dozens of portraits.
The owner of the voice was in the kitchen, preparing drinks. She caught Lottieâs eye and smiled, giving a little wink.
âIâll be with you in a moment, please take a seat by the fire.â
She hadnât noticed the fire before, yet there it was. Across the room stood a fireplace nearly as tall as her, similarly decorated as everything else, bursting with russet flames. Two armchairs from vastly different eras sat in front of it. She took a seat in the more modern of the two, and slung her backpack to the floor.
Within a minute the woman arrived with their drinks on a burnished tray. It was covered in rings from thousands of previous mugs. As she took her drink from the woman with a thank you, she couldnât help but notice how cold her hands were.
One sip from the drink confused her. It was tea â of course â but one she had only tried once. Locked into the chambers of her childhood memory, a brew that she had once been given by her grandmother. She had hated all teas before that, but one cup of the mild tea, infused with apricots and honey, had changed her mind.
She looked up at the woman, brow furrowed.
âBy now Iâm sure you are brimming with questions.â The woman placed her mug back on the table between them. It was empty. âWelcome to my abode, in these so nameless woods. No one comes here by chance, although that is a common thought. Anything youâre dying to ask me?â There was a gentle authority to her tone.
âWhere did all these decorations come from?â She knew it was an odd question, but this was an odd situation.
âNot one Iâm asked often, I have to say. Everyone who comes here leaves me with a little memento. Even if itâs just their faces.â She nodded to the portraits. âWhat will you leave behind?â
She understood that this was not to be argued. Reaching into her pack, she grabbed the compass that had been put away minutes before. Its needle still spun wildly, as if in protest of the current situation. The metal felt warm in her hand.
She passed it over to the woman, who nodded in approval, before placing it on the mantle of the fireplace.
âThank you, Lottie. Are you ready?â She held out a hand.
Lottie took one last sip of the mug before placing it next to the woman's. It was empty. She nodded, rose, then took the womanâs hand.
Outside in the woods, twilight slipped gracefully into the cool tones of night. No light spoiled the blackness, no manmade smells permeated the leaves.
