note. I wrote this while bored at work one day. No idea if I'm gonna continue it, but I'm hoping that putting it here might inspire me to do just that. Enjoy and feel free to comment <3

      The door had somehow evaded my notice the first time I’d passed up the hall. Sure, that might’ve had something to do with the fact that I was carrying armful after armful of wool, linen, and burlap that both obscured my vision and demanded my focus to balance. Or, as I would prefer to believe, the door simply hadn’t been there the first eleven times I’d come up the hall.
      Now, my task complete, I could take a moment to breathe as I trudged back down the hall toward the front of the house. One hand trailed along the rough-hewn walls, my eyes watching the intricate, if dusty, swirls on the flooring. No doubt I’d be the one sweeping up as soon as I reported that my ferrying of fabric was finished. Perhaps doing a bit of varnishing, too. These old floors looked like they were well used, and perhaps well-loved once upon a time. Maybe, I thought, just maybe I would actually like it here. Despite that fact that it was the exact opposite of what I’d lived my entire life.
      My fingers brushed over a door frame, touching the cold metal of a handle. I paused. The door was little more than wooden slats nailed together in the usual fashion of the early settlers—iron hinges and a single strip of cold iron as a handle. Still, I couldn’t see through the space between the slats, so at least some time and care had gone into it. Curious, though. This door, old as it was, had a lock that was familiar in make to the ones found in more modern areas. Even more curious, a single iron key with a delicate filigree design sat quietly in the lock. I wondered if this house was not as we’d been told, and had already had some repairs or renovations since it was originally built twenty years ago. I touched the key, half expecting the metal to zing under my fingertips. Instead, it was cool and smooth in only the way a metal well-used could be.
      “Ann! Are you finished with the wool yet?”
      The voice calling for me from the front of the house startled me. Hurriedly I snatched the key, tucking it into the small leather pouch that hung from my waistband.