Slowly and methodically the boy walked through the silent house. His way was only barely lit by cloud-filtered light bounced through dusty windows. Perhaps it was better this way, far harder to see the cobwebs and dust.
And the bottom of the grand stairway the boy stopped. He’d wanted to stop before even entering, yet here he was. Marble steps with a ragged strip of dark carpet up their middle rose to a dais then split into two staircases. The boy could only sigh and grip his notebook. He hated stairs, consequence of short legs.
“Hello…again,” he said, rolling his eyes dramatically, with perhaps a bit more flair than one would expect from someone his age. And with that less than cordial greeting he began to ascend the stairs one at a time, right leg always first, the good leg. He wondered if Nick would have come if he’d asked.
After what seemed like an eternity the boy was on the dais. He craned his neck back to gaze upon her. Just as he had seen her before, she sat, perfect and prim in her frame.