Escaping -Imagine Dragons Fanfiction -

Chapter 1

Emilie

I sat on the porch steps, my gaze fixed on the breathtaking panorama that stretched before me.

Undredal, the small town nestled in the heart of the Norwegian countryside, was a picture of serenity.

The summer sun bathed the landscape in a warm and inviting glow, casting long shadows on the cobblestone streets.

Quaint wooden houses adorned with colorful flowers lined the narrow lanes, and the towering mountains in the distance seemed to touch the sky itself.

Taking in the beauty of my surroundings, I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs with the crisp, clean air that carried the scent of pine.

This was my escape, my haven of tranquility, where my world's chaos seemed to melt away.

It was my grandmother Zara's old country house, the house I grew up in, that provided this refuge.

The creaky porch steps, the weathered walls, and the fading paint - they all whispered stories of my childhood.

A gentle breeze ruffled my hair, bringing with it the faint sounds of small waves of the fjord just a few meters away.

The sound was like a lullaby, soothing my soul and allowing me to lose myself in the magic of the moment.

But my thoughts were not solely occupied by the landscape; they were also intertwined with my past I have escaped by coming here.

From the open kitchen window behind me, the rich aroma of brewed coffee wafted into the air, mingling with the irresistible scent of freshly baked bread. Inside, my grandmother Zara moved with practiced grace, rolling out the dough for lefse, a traditional Norwegian dish that had been passed down through generations.

Her silvery hair was pulled back into a loose bun, and the wrinkles on her hands were etched with the marks of a life well-lived.

"Emilie, dear, could you pass me the flour?" Zara's voice carried through the open window, breaking the spell of my thoughts.

With a smile, I rose from the porch steps and entered the cozy kitchen.

The rustic wooden furnishings, worn yet full of character, added to the charm of the room.

Sunlight filtered through lace curtains, casting patterns of light and shadow on the well-worn floorboards.

"Here you go, Grandma," I said, handing her the bag of flour. "Need any help?"

Zara's eyes twinkled as she accepted the bag.

"Thank you, dear. I appreciate your company in the kitchen. It's been too long since we've had this time together."

I leaned against the counter, a contented smile on my lips. "I missed this place, Grandma. I missed you"

After rolling out the last of the dough, we began to reminisce about the old country house itself and about the old cottage next door.

As long as I can remember, Zara rented out the cottage for travelers, which belonged to her mother long before.

Her eyes sparkled mischievously as she shared, "A young man has rented the house for the next two weeks. Can you believe it?"

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "A young man? That's different. Usually it's only elderly couples, right?" I questioned with a laugh.

Zara's laughter was as melodious as a mountain stream. "Well, not this time."

As the sun began its descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, we finished the lefse and set it aside to cool..

"I'm glad you're here, Emilie," Zara said softly, her hand resting on my cheek. "This house comes alive when you're around."

Touched by her words, I leaned into her touch, feeling the warmth of her skin. "I'm glad I'm here too, Grandma."

As dinner came to an end, I made my way to the room where I had spent my childhood.

The familiar creak of the wooden floor underfoot, the old scandinavian carpet under the bed and the soft rustling of white lace curtains brought forth a wave of memories that washed over me like a gentle tide.

Photographs on the walls, capturing snapshots of moments frozen in time.

There was a picture of me, beaming with pride, holding a freshly baked pie I had made with Grandma's patient guidance when I was 5.

Another photo showed us knee-deep in a flourishing garden, dirt-streaked and smiles wide as we plant vegetables and flowers that had transformed the yard into a canvas of color.

I closed my eyes as I gently trace my fingers over the sepia-toned photographes and let the memories dance before me.

The sensation of rich soil between my fingers, the smell of rain on a warm summer's day, and the laughter that had echoed between the rows of vegetables.

My younger self stared back at me, those innocent eyes had known nothing of the complexities and heartaches that life would bring with growing up.