Descendants of Mother Nature

cottage in the tree

The deer moved ahead of me, gentle and sure-footed as it padded along the mossy path. I followed slowly, my heart thudding like it couldn’t decide between fear and curiosity.

That’s when I saw it.

A cottage not beside a tree, but wrapped into it, like the tree had grown around it and the house had just made peace with that. Thick roots hugged the stone walls, and vines curled around the windows like lace. The roof was slanted, moss-covered, and the door hung slightly open.

I froze at the threshold.

“Wait,” I whispered, as the deer stepped over the threshold without a pause.

It turned its head once, as if expecting me to follow. Then it disappeared into the dark.

“You’ve got to be kidding me…” I murmured, inching closer.

The door creaked wider with the softest touch of my hand. I hesitated again, but then I couldn’t let the deer that scared me to death and then let me touch it go in alone, now could I? *Deep breath*

So I stepped inside.

The air smelled like wood and dust. Not rotten.... just forgotten. Time hadn’t destroyed this place. It had just… paused.

Moonlight streamed in through the crooked windows, casting silver over everything. I stood there, barely breathing.

To my left, I saw a small fireplace ..cold, but intact. Cobwebs draped the mantle like old lace.

A dusty bookshelf stretched up one wall, books leaned and stacked at odd angles. Their spines were faded, but some had delicate designs ..florals, stars, symbols I didn’t recognize.

There was a little dining table near the window, set for two mismatched plates, a cracked teacup. The chairs were carved with flower patterns, the petals worn smooth where fingers must’ve traced them a hundred times.

Wild plants had grown in through cracks in the walls. Little white flowers sprouted from the corners, and ivy dangled from ceiling beams like it had always belonged.

It didn’t feel haunted.

It felt… waiting.

Behind me, the deer let out a slow breath and settled onto the floor, curling up as if this had always been its resting place. Like it knew this house.

Maybe it did.

I walked forward, my fingertips brushing the edge of a wooden chair. Dust puffed into the moonlight, dancing.

Then I saw a door. Slightly ajar. Half-hidden behind a curtain of ivy.

I swallowed, heart fluttering, and stepped toward it

I took a deep breath And with that, I gently pushed the door open.