*Ember*
As we step out of the carriage I look at the house before me. A waist-high wall made of mossy stones separates the road from the property. An old wooden hinge door is the only entrance. As we walk up the Cobblestone walkway I see a small cottage met with the same type of stones up the wall. It has a small porch but the porch swing and a brilliant bright red door. You can tell that there's a fire on the inside from the smoke billowing out of the chimney, something must also be cooking because you can smell what one might think would be a stew that smell grows stronger as you approach the front door. Everything about this house seems so familiar, it's like I've been here before.
As we continue to make her way up the walk the door opens without hesitation. An older version of
