Rose's POV

Aunty Grace's room filled my nostrils with the musty scent of dust, old books, and a slightly perfumed odor, which I suspected may have been lavender. The furniture, too, stood just as I remembered, well-worn, yet familiar. The sofa arm displayed a crocheted blanket and a platter of unopened butterscotch candies on a coffee table. Time, it appears, stood still here, just as it stood in place in the lady in front of me.

Jasmine and I entered carefully, and Aunty Grace closed the ...