Rose's POV

The homestead stood just as I remembered it, weathered, faded, but unshaken in its stand against time. Each corner of it clutched a part of my past, refusing to release the imprints of a past existence.

I stood there for a moment, hesitant, before I pushed on past the door. The familiar creak of the hinge sent a shiver down my spine as I went in. The musty smell of dust and old wood filled my lungs, and it revived old memories—years-old memories.

The boards on which I stood ...