By the time the sun had rolled back into the sky and slapped me across the face with its brutal morning wake-up call, I’d all but forgotten the predicament in which I found myself. A stranger in a strange land. Xanthia’s home was beautiful, and she had made up the guest bedroom in a wondrous way. Everything about her house was erratic, but homey. Untidy, but somehow, just right.
I’d always been suspicious of people who were just flat out tidy and organised; there was something off putting about them, something that filled me with mistrust and little shards of bullshit.
One thing that I had noticed about Xanthia’s place - minus the human knick-knacks littering the walls, mantelpieces, and other general areas - was the faint aroma of coffee that seemed to be lingering constantly throughout
