I stop hesitantly in the doorframe looking up at the unfriendly face of the man who slowly moved out of our way as Alexander pushed past him, dragging me along. The man was old, a bit older than Polly maybe, and he was dressed in a formal attire and I wondered where the hell did I just arrive? It felt like I somehow stumbled into a wormhole and traveled in an early 1900s England, where men wore suit and tie attires around the house like it was not the most uncomfortable thing in their wardrobes. The house was not different at all. The cold was suddenly swallowed by the damp warmth inside, smothered with a strong smell of pine and oranges. Everything was dressed with Christmas ornaments, and even the old wooden stairway was wrapped with a sparkly ribbon.
There are countless small pictures
