At some point, she’s lost the shadow and quickly closed the door. In the first room she could have a better look at ever since first stepping into the house, it filled her with wonder how detailed, how nicely arranged every item was, how all of the books were in their place, golden letters on their covers, how there was a small bronze statue on the desk -- something prettier than anything she’s ever seen in terms of decoration. Her house had sewn decoration hung all over -- and a garden of knitted flowers made of wool. Aunt Margaret’s favorite mindless activity, whenever the sun set and the work day was over.
She stepped with caution, trying not to get distracted by the beauty to a point where she neglected the ugliness, the danger. She trailed over the map on the desk, trying to take it and keep it for herself, but she could not. Instead, she settled for reading through it, small drops of water falling from her braid as she bent over it.
When she heard the door open again, she froze. Marlene was still breathless from running away from her shadow. “I really hope you’re here to read,” she dryly warned, too stressed to chuckle at her own statement.
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